


The Empty Bassinet

by writeranthea



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childbirth, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fertility Issues, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Joseph is a cute kid, Light Angst, Medical Procedures, Mild Sexual Content, Past Child Death, Past Miscarriage, Pregnancy, References to Depression, Self-Hatred, Trauma, the fact that their marriage was a love match tends to be forgotten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 01:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 89,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21502936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeranthea/pseuds/writeranthea
Summary: Vienna, 1749. The worst thing about it all, Franz Stephan had since decided for himself, was the silence that showed him just what he and Maria Theresia did not have.
Relationships: Franz Stephan von Lothringen | Francis I Holy Roman Emperor/Maria Theresia von Österreich
Comments: 25
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1 - Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I posted this story on AO3. If you see it on any other website or platform, please consider that I did not consent to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said that I would try to write less lengthy things? Yeah, _that_ didn't go as planned :-D 
> 
> I split the chapter into two part for it to be easier to read.
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**August 1749**

The worst thing about it all, Franz Stephan had since decided for himself, was the silence that seemed to dominate wherever he would go. It was the sort of silence that would not disappear when he would participate in the evening gathering in the grand salon, and it was the silence that would slowly but inevitably close in on him when he would enjoy a glass of good wine in the solitude of his private study at night. Out of everything that came with it, it was said silence that showed him what he did not have - and it had not even made halt when it came to affecting the relationship he had with his beloved wife. When Maria Theresia had gotten the idea to expand the palace of Schönbrunn after the birth of their first child by having another floor and two dozen rooms build, neither she nor Franz Stephan had expected for them to be filled with nothing but the same sobering, heartrending silence.

Franz Stephan knew how lucky he was to be married to the woman he loved. He had been fifteen when he had came to the court of Karl VI and he, back then, never would have thought that he would lose his heart to the Karl’s oldest daughter, Maria Theresia. Nine years his junior, they had not found to each other until the summer of 1735. Oh, what a joyful summer it had been. It had been the first time that Franz Stephan had no longer viewed her as a younger protegee of sort, as the young girl that he had allowed to braid flowers into his hair, but as the beautiful woman that she had grown into. The fact that the marriage between them had been arranged by their fathers in 1723, one year prior to his arrival at the Viennese court, both of them had known. There had not been a way in which they could not have known it, considering that Franz Stephan had been reminded of _his future duties as her future husband_ at every single dinner.

The emperor had loved his daughters to an extend that was very unusual for a monarch that usually preferred to have sons to his name instead of three daughters, but Karl VI’s love of his daughters had been sincere and Franz Stephan had known that Maria Theresia had been granted to choose whether she actually wanted to marry him or not, a choice that a princess had rarely ever been allowed to have. He could still hear Karl’s voice, saying that _If she does not desire to be wed to you, Franz, there will be a dozen other that are willing to take your place._

He had not known how it would have been appropriate for him to act around Maria Theresia. With Leopold, his older and very much beloved, brother dead, his father residing in Nancy and his mother trying to improve her poor health in a health resort on the North Sea, the first few weeks at the foreign court had been rather lonely for him. While a few members of his father’s entourage had accompanied him to Vienna, inter alia his teacher, he had been incredibly lonely. His days had been spend sitting quietly at Karl’s side, as he had been supposed to learn by watching him work, and his nights had been spend silently sobbing into his pillow about the loss of his brother and the life that he had been forced to leave behind. No one had asked him whether he had wanted to live in Vienna or not and at first, no one had seemed to notice that he had not been doing as well as he should have done - that was until he had broken down into tears in front of Karl one evening. Franz Stephan no longer knew what the reason for his distress had been, but he had not forgotten how Karl had stood from his chair, almost immediately so, and had drawn him into an embrace that very well could have been his father’s.

He had clung to Karl almost desperately him as he had cried the undefinable sorrow off his young heart and after that incident, after he had spend a good half of an hour crying on the emperor’s lap, things had taken a turn for the better. Karl had then begun to take him on as if he had been a son of his own, taking the young boy with him wherever he had went and even though the fact that Franz Stephan had soon became Karl’s hunting partner had caused more than just one displeased letter from his father, who had wanted his son to go after his education, he and Karl had stayed close until the emperor’s death in 1740.

Suddenly emerging from his thoughts, Franz Stephan shifted in his chair and reached for the half empty pitcher of wine to refill his glass anew. When he had retreated to his study, it had not been his intention to lost himself in those heavy memories. All he had wanted to do had been to enjoy one or two glasses of wine before he would join Maria Theresia in their shared bed and yet, as he refilled his glass for the third time after he had absentmindedly emptied it, he found himself unable to resist the temptation of giving in to the memories that were not all unhappy and heavy on his heart. The summer of 1735. Franz Stephan chuckled lowly when he snatched the glass up again and leaned further back into his chair.

If there was such thing as the summer of a lifetime in one’s life, it would, without doubt, be the summer of 1735 for him. He could still remember the first time that he had looked at Maria Theresia as a _woman_ , had never forgotten the tension which had formed in his chest in that moment and had refused to ebb away for a very long time. It had been during an evening of festivities, which had been held in celebration of Elisabeth Christine’s birthday, and Maria Theresia had been sharing a joyful dance with her mother, who, on the occasion of her birthday, had been much less strict about the compliance of court protocol. Franz Stephan’s memories about it were still as clear as day, despite the fact that almost fourteen years had passed since. He could still recall how he had stood rather at the edge of the ongoing festivities, trustworthily as always at Karl VI’s side, and had watched Maria Theresia dance with her mother when it had hit him.

Maria Theresia had tipped her head back as she had laughed at something that Elisabeth Christine had whispered into her ear and the hot flush that had shot through Franz Stephan’s body had established himself into a feeling of tension in his chest. As if Maria Theresia had noticed him staring, she had turned around towards him and had smiled at him. He, as embarrassing as it had been, had been unable to react and had merely resumed to stare at her while she had looked at him for a few moments longer.

It had only been Karl’s chuckle from beside him that had pulled him out of his trance and had enabled him to smile back and raise his hand in greeting. “She likes you,” the archduke and emperor had spoken to him in a low voice after having leaned closer to him and Franz Stephan’s heart had somersaulted all over again.

“She... does?”

“Indeed, yes,” Karl had retorted, a small but honest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “She is asking a lot of questions about you.”

“Is she?”

Again, the older man had chuckled before he had answered, “She is. But you must find out for yourself, son.”

Franz Stephan had taken a slow sip from his wine as he had tried to process what he had just been told, very much aware of the fact that his face must had stood in a bright red underneath the power that he had been wearing. Later on, he would not know where he had eventually taken the courage from to ask her for a dance. But he had done it, and Maria Theresia had accepted. For how long they had ended up dancing Franz Stephan, to that day, did not know but if it would have been an entire hour, he would not have been surprised. Even though they had, quite literally so, been watched by the entity of the court, neither of them had seemed to matter. Since the dance of choice at the Viennese court had been the Waltz for a few years by then, they had danced much closer to each other than they would have done it if they would have danced in Nancy instead. He had held one of Maria Theresia’s hands in his while he had keept his left arm loosely held around her waist, swirling her around like he had learned it from an early age on and oh, he had been certain that Maria Theresia’s hand had burned where it had rested in his.

She had been so breathtakingly beautiful that evening, with flushed cheeks, glistering eyes and a few loose strands of hair that had refused to be bound back into her up-done hairstyle. They had danced until Maria Theresia had stated that she, if they would keep moving in circles, would surely faint and Franz Stephan had thanked her for the dance with a lingering kiss onto the back of her hand, “Thank you,” and Maria Theresia had tilted her head as she had smiled at him.

“You are most welcome.” While they had parted after that, Franz Stephan had not been able to concentrate on anything but her for the rest of the evening. He had tried to watch her as inconspiciously as he only could, and if Karl and Elisabeth Christine had noticed him doing so, they had not mentioned it.

After said evening, they had begun to spend more time together. Maria Theresia had invited him over to her daily game evenings in the crown princess’ salon and Franz Stephan had not only come after every single invitation, but had offered to take her onto a walk and show her the newest acquirations of his book collection. He did not need to think about it, he knew that there had not been a day that summer that they had not spend together. The courtiers had noticed it as well and while what they had done had never been behind close doors, the nobles had eaten it up like starving men. Good God, Maria Theresia and him had walked through the vast gardens of Schönbrunn with their arms locked and at the same evening had heard rumors about them having done ungodly things behind a hedge. But court talk like that had been and still was a normality, even or especially since they had been due to marry. After all, in their social ranks marriages based on love were a thing even rarer than a twin pregnancy.

When it had became clear that they had been getting closer, Franz Stephan had tried not to think about the marriage that had been set up between them when Maria Theresia had been no more than a six-year-old girl. While it had not taken him long to realise that he had fallen in love, not more than a few days, really, Franz Stephan had been left in the dark about whether Maria Theresia had returned the feelings or not. He had not wanted to approach her too boldy, considering that he had already wanted her to be his wife and thus had not been eager to scare her off, but his heard had ached every time that they had bid each other good night with no more than a smile and a nod of their heads.

Then that Franz Stephan thought about it, he truly had fallen head over heels in love with her before he had even kissed her for the first time. He took another sip of wine, leaning further into his chair. Their first kiss. Oh, it had been his most cherished memory before their first child had been born. Around two weeks had passed since the evening that they had danced together and it had been Karl’s idea for Franz Stephan to invite Maria Theresia for a ride. “The weather is exceptionally good today,” the older man had said as he had looked up from the files he had been bent over, “and I am certain that my daughter will find great enjoyment in it.” So Franz Stephan had invited her and while he would have been uttermost surprised if she would not have agreed, Franz Stephan’s heart had still somersaulted when a valet had passed him the note onto which Maria Theresia had written her acceptance.

They had set out for the forest that delimited the gardens of Schönbrunn that Karl and him used for their hunts and he had been so greatful for the fact that his horse had known how to walk on the path, as he never could have concentrated on it with someone as beautiful as Maria Theresia riding next to him. “What do you say,” she had interrupted his flow of dreamy thoughts, making him clear his throat and quickly avert his gaze away from her. “A short race surely could do no bad.”

“What?”

His obvious confusion had made her laugh and while it had caused a surge of embarrassment through him, it had been worth it when he had gotten to see her blinding smile. “A short race, François.”

 _François_ \- she had always called him by the name that he had christened with, a most endearingly little fact. “Are you certain?”

Maria Theresia had cocked a playful eyebrow as she had taken the reins tighter, “Do you fear that I am not?” He had shaken his head, suddenly not able to find his voice, and she had made a sound that he failed to put his finger upon. “Or... maybe you are simply not ready to lose.”

That time it had been his turn to laugh, “I could give the same question right back to you.”

“So, do you accept?” The stallion that Maria Theresia had been mounted upon had already pranced as if it knew that it could possibly be granted a chance to run and she had still been looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a daring smile.

There had been no more doubts that he had already loved her then. “Where to?”

She had turned her horse around, her eyes narrowed, “To the edge of the woods I would say. We have not ridden very far.”

Franz Stephan had nodded sharply and had mirrored her by turning his horse around as well. “What do you demand as a price if you should win?”

“A kiss.”

If he would have said that he had been dumbstruck, it would not have been an underestimation. He had expected her to say that it had been a joke, that she had merely said it to see his reaction, but no such thing had happened and once he had noticed how her smile had faded, he had hurried to accept her proposal. “’Tis a deal then,” he had said, hoping that his smile had not betrayed his immense insecurity and nervousness as he had urged his horse forward until it had came to stand next to Maria Theresia’s.

“What is it that you want if I happen to lose?”

His eyes had instantly found hers when he had turned his head to look at her. “A kiss, of course. It is only fair.”

“Yes, I do agree. It is only fair.”

Their gazes had kept each other and oh, he had been ready to kiss here right there and then but she had pulled him out of his yearning thoughts once more. “On my signal, François?”

“Of course.”

It had been moments like these where the age gap between them bad become obvious; Maria Theresia, eighteen years of age and grinning at him in youthful delight and him, closer to twenty-seven than twenty-six and very much aware that she would not only be the woman he would be forced to marry, but the one that he would have married out of his free will. The one that he wanted to be the mother of his children. Maria Theresia had counted down and when her called-out “Go!” had resounded through the forest around them, their race had begun. Franz Stephan took a slow sip from his wine, savouring the sweet taste while his eyes were still focused on a spot of the tabletop in front of him. It had been his intention to let her win, but God be damned, he had not even needed to do so. Her horse had ran as if it had been born to do nothing else and while his horse, a prime example of a horse bred for hunting, had given its all, Maria Theresia had still won with a good few seconds’ lead. Franz Stephan had no hard feelings about it and when he had heard her laughter before he had even reached her side, his heart had somersaulted. “Do not say that you let me win,” she had laughed, holding a hand to her mouth while she had been downright shaken by laughter and he had pulled a short grimace in return before laughing himself.

“Be reassured that I will not tell them day I did.”

“Well it would be a lie if you would tell them that, François!” Since they had came to a halt at the edge of the woods and riding through the park would have been a breaching of court protocol, they had dismounted their hourses to lead them by their reins instead. Maria Theresia’s cheeks had been tinted into a soft shade of pink - and he had known that it had not been due to the ride, especially since she had refused to look at him.

_“What do you demand as a price if you should win?”_

_“A kiss.”_

It had been his time to act and thanks to God, he had managed to do it. Without saying a word he had turned to step into her way, earning himself a low gasp, and had let go of his horse’s reins to take her face into his hands. He was certain that he had felt how it had grown even warmer. “Do you not want it?”

“What?”, she had whispered, hear eyes almost frantically moving over his face as he had leaned in almost enough for the tips of their noses to come into touch.

“The kiss.” Maria Theresia had not answered, not verbally at least, but Franz Stephan also had not waited for a possible answer before he had closed the mere centimeter-wide gap between their faces by pressing his lips onto hers with just the slightest of pressure. She may not have been his first kiss, but it had, by far, been the most precious kiss he had ever shared and he had not tried to deepen it before he had pulled back again, albeit not letting go of her face. “Now you have your price, Your Highness,” he had whispered while he had stroked one of her blushed cheeks and until that day he had never seen the blue of her eyes, which was so extraordinarily speckled with brown, shine more brightly. “Are you satisfied?”

“Do not say that.” Her words had been carried by her breath and had, to Franz Stephan’s shock, sounded rather unsteady. “Do not say that it but another duty for you.” Taken aback by what she had said he had been unable to answer, had opened his mouth without bringing a single sound out and his chest had clenched when he had seen how tears had been rising into Maria Theresia’s eyes. “Please do not say that I am... nothing more than your duty, François.”

Aware of the way that her chin had been trembling, he had smiled down at her as he had wiped at the tears that had freed themselves from her eyes. “You could never be a duty to me.”

“What?” Her wide, tear-filled eyes had looked up at him with so much hope that it had nearly been enough to cause him to tear up as well and he had needed to clear his throat before he had been able to speak again.

“I love you, Theresia.”

Their gazes had steadily kept each other and Franz Stephan had done it Maria Theresia alike when she had let out what could have been described as a sobbed laugh. “You do?”

“I do.”

He had been about to kiss her again, but she had beaten him to it by cupping his face and pulling him down into a somewhat overwhelming kiss. Other than he had done it, however, she had not kept her hands on his face for long before she had wrapped her arms around him and had pulled him into an embrace. Oh, Franz Stephan had been as speechless as he only could have been and he knew that his cheeks must had burned just as brightly as Maria Theresia’s had when he had looked down to see her nestled against his chest. Blinking hard to get rid of the blurriness of his eyes, he had closed his arms around her. “I love you as well,” she had whispered, turning her head to look up at him and he had kissed her again. Onto her forehead at first, then onto her cheek and the corner of her mouth before their lips had brushed against each other and he had kissed her a bit more boldy that time. They had held onto each other for a little while, enjoying their togetherness that had been disturbing by nothing but their horses neighing softly beside them. “Since when?”

“Hm?”

“Since when do you know that... you love me.”

“Ever since I saw you dancing with your mother,” he had brought a hand up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, “you were so beautiful that evening, Theresia,” and had kissed her forehead. “What about you?”

Instead of answering right away, Maria Theresia had made a humming sound and had returned to nestle against him. “I am not sure” she had finally said, “but it has been long before that.”

Franz Stephan sighed as he raised the glass to his lips yet again. That summer had been absolutely spectacular. It had been the summer of his lifetime and while he was not any less happy with Maria Theresia as his wife, he did miss the time when their life together had not yet been dominated by grief that neither of them really succeeded at hiding from the other. When they had returned to the palace hand in hand rather than just with locked arms, every present pair of eyes had been on them. From nobleman to servant, everyone had watched, some more conspicuously than others, as they had walked en route for the emperor’s study to report the gratifying news with him and when Maria Theresia had told his father that she would not marry any other man that him, Franz Stephan of Lorraine, he had been certain that a weight of a hundred bricks had been lifted from his shoulders.

“I love him, Vati,” she had said, reaching for his hand to squeeze as they had stood in front of Karl’s writing desk, “and I know that he loves he as well.”

He had agreed to her word with a nod, the smile never leaving his face and his heart refusing to stop pouring out the love for her. “If you say that he is the one.”

“He is, Vati.”

Karl had obviously tried to stay serious, but the glimmer in his eyes had been tale telling as he had looked at the man that he would wed hit daughter and heir to and when he had announced that he would immediately begin with the preparations of the weddings, Maria Theresia had wrapped her arms around Franz Stephan with a laugh. They had been married in the Augustinerkirche on the twelfth of February 1736 and oh, what a grand wedding it had been! Franz Stephan needed to smile from the sole memory of it alone. He had known just how lucky he had been to get to marry the woman that he loved and, even more importantly so, that loved him just as much. It had been an uttermost grandiose event, with guests from all over Europe and evening festivities that could hardly ever be matched to anything that had happened ever since but between all the spleandour and beauty that had surrounded him that day, there had could not have been anything more beautiful than Maria Theresia shining in her dress.

“I still cannot believe that I get to see you like this,” he had whispered as they had laid together in their shared bed after they had made love twice in a row, lazily running his fingers over the curve of her spine and kissing her sweaty temple.

Maria Theresia had chuckled, “Well, you did not really try to win me for you.”

“Excuse me?” He had cocked a playful eyebrow while she had laughed again and had moved to lie further on top of him.

“You did not need to, of course. But I surely would have liked to see you try.”

“Oh, I can imagine that my love.”

She had sighed, her fingers drawing imaginary circles on his naked chest. “I love you. Dear God, I really do love you, François.”

“Is it such a surprise?” His voice had been teasing and once he had moved his hand up her back again, he had rested it in the back of her neck to fondle with the soft hair it had found their. “Am I such an undesirable man?”

“Do you expect me to be honest?”

“Good God,” he had groaned, “please send me the strength to deal with this woman!”

“If I ask my father I have no doubt that he will make it possible for you to travel to Florence alone,” Maria Theresia had said with a sigh as she had rolled off him and over onto her back.

“What?”

“I would surely prefer to stay in Vienna.”

Franz Stephan had growled and his young wife had giggled when he had crawled on top of her within a second and had attacked her neck with demanding kisses. “I will not leave without you,” he had said with a growl still presence, one hand moving down between her legs yet again. “I could not be without you for so long.” Maria Theresia had breathed his name when he had resumed to please her with two fingers, her body sensitive from the attention which he had paid to it earlier that night.

They had set out for Florence two weeks after their wedding, still so very much in love and hopeful as for what their future together would bring for them. The journey to Florence had been a rather unspectacular one, without any problems or incidents, and they had been solemly welcomed by the court of the Palazzo Pitti, from which he had been supposed to come after the duties of his title as Grand Duke of Tuskany. They had stayed in Florence for three month - and it had been during those twelve weeks that Maria Theresia had noticed the first signs of a pregnancy. My God, how happy he had been when she had told him, with glistering eyes and a wide smile, that she had been expecting his child. That children would have been a duty for them regardless, neither Franz Stephan nor Maria Theresia had thought about in that moment as for them, a child would be a product of their uttermost honest love only. “Are you really?”, he had whispered as he had stared at her in disbelief from where he had been sitting on the edge of their shared bed. “You are pregnant? Really?”

Maria Theresia had nodded and had held her hands over her stomach, albeit there had not yet been a swell visible underneath the satin fabric. “The doctor has confirmed it, François. Not to mention that I already should have bled twice.”

“You are pregnant with my child.”

His cheeks had gained a bit of color as she had laughed and had moved to stand in front of him. “Of course it will be yours.”

“It is not...”

“I know that you did not mean it in such a way, my love,” she had said and had cupped his face, her thumbs stroking the soft stubbled on his cheeks. He had only noticed his tears when she had wiped them away, a choked sob escaping him as she then let go of his face to take him by the wrists and guide his hands to his stomach. “It will not be long until you will be able to feel it.”

Franz Stephan had shaken his head, just once and still in disbelief as he moved his hand over Maria Theresia’s soft stomach. Why he had been so overwhelmed by the news that he would be a father, he had not known. “I love you,” he had eventually whispered and had leaned forward to kiss her stomach, “and I love you just as much.”

Above him, Maria Theresia had gasped herself when he had whispered against the satin fabric of her nightdress. “François...”

“Whether you will be my son or my daughter, it does not matter for I will love you all the same.”

It had not been a lie. They had talked about it before, whether they would desire a son or a daughter as their first child, and had came to the conclusion that it, in fact, had not mattered for them. With the Pragmatic Sanction safe and secured in place, meaning that a daughter would have the same right to the throne as a son, every child would be a blessing. “So if... it should be a girl,” Maria Theresia had said as they had conversed about the topic of children one night while sitting on the balcony of their apartment in the Palazzo Pitti over a glass of wine, “you would not be disappointed?”

Franz Stephan had reached over the small round table to take her hand, “No, I will not. Even if we are destined to have a dozen daughters before a son is born, I shall not be disappointed.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Have I ever lied to you, Theresia?”

“No...”

“Than that would be my answer to your question.”

“The child cannot hear you as of now,” she had laughed as he had murmured a few further words against her stomach, and he had taken her by her hands to pull her astride onto his lap.

“Have you notified your father?”

“No, I have not. I wanted to tell you first.”

“Good.” They had both laughed as Franz Stephan had guided his hands underneath the hem of Maria Theresia’s nightdress to stroke the soft skin of her thighs. “It is my right to be the first to know.”

“You wish,” she had laughed, shaking her head most endearingly so and brushing a curl off his forehead. “It, in fact, is my father’s right to be informed of it immediately as he is the regent and you are- _ah!_ ”

“You are pretty cheeky today,” he had purred into her ear, making her gasp when he ran his hand over her chest with quite a boldness.

“And you are already sounding like a father, François.”

 _A father_. Any possible arousal that could have been there had dissolved into thin air and he had grinned as he had hidden his face where her neck had met with her shoulder. _He would become a father._ They had set out for their return to Vienna with their hearts full of anticipation and love for a person that they had not even met yet and by the time that they had settled down in their apartments of the Hofburg again, the dresses Maria Theresia wore had no longer concealed her growing bump. In Franz Stephan’s eyes, she had never been more beautiful than during her first pregnancy. There had been a glow to her during those months, one that he could hardly explain to himself. Maybe it had been her face, which had became lovely rouded and had seemed to shine whenever he had seen her, or maybe it had the fact that she had seemed to be utterly content with herself and the child that had been growing inside of her.

When it had came to him, he had hardly been able to keep his hands off her. It had been but in a harmless way, of course. As soon as they had been in the privacy of their rooms he had caressed her, had allowed her to take the much needed naps with her head propped up on his thigh, one hand stroking through her hair while he would read through whatever files he had been required to put his signature under. The further the pregnancy had proceeded and the greater his wife’s struggles had become, the more Franz Stephan had tried be of help and not make a comment when he would keep him awake by constantly turning around in bed. “Mon cœr, is there anything that I can do to help you?”, he had asked her after she had spend what could have been two hours alternating between turning onto her left and right side, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in.

“Well,” his wife had snapped, “you cannot take it out of me so _no_ , there is _nothing_ that you can do. Stop being so silly.”

He had swallowed and had continued to stay turned away from her, his hands clutching at his pillows. Even then he had known that he probably should not have taken it by heart - he had not wanted to imagine how it must be like to have a child growing inside his stomach - and yet he had failed to not let it affect him. Before he could have said another word however, he had heard sniffling and shuffling from beside him and had rolled over onto his back as soon as he had perceived it. “My love?”

Maria Theresia had no longer been lying beside her but had sat on the edge of the bed, her back turned towards Franz Stephan whose worry had skyrocketed when she had sniffled again instead of answering to him. “Theresia.” There had definitely been a hint of panic in his voice as he had nearly shot into a sitting position and had moved over the soft mattress on all fours to kneel behind her. “Do you want me to call the doctor?”

She had not looked at him, had merely wiped at her nose with the back of her hand before she had whispered a “No”.

“My love...” Moving to sit rather than kneel behind her, he had parted his legs so that he had been able to nestle his chest against her back and had closed his arms around her, his hands splayed on her rounded belly. “What is it that is upsetting you so?”

Another sniffle had followed. “I... I did not mean to snarl at you...”

He had barely managed to silent his snort, Karl had told him just how much a pregnancy could hinder a woman from being rational. “I do not know what it is,” the ageing archduke and emperor had said, laughing, “it mushes their brains, probably.” “It is hardly a reason for you to cry,” Franz Stephan had whispered against the side of her neck, leaving a quick kiss behind.

“I do know that,” Maria Theresia had retorted with yet another sniffle, “I _know_ that it is not but I cannot stop.”

He had kissed the same spot again before he had, with quite some struggle, moved around her until it had been possible for him to lean down and kiss her stomach. “I believe that it is time for you to come, my daughter.” The midwives had forecasted that it will be a girl, as Maria Theresia, in their words, had carried high. Above him, his wife had snorted at his comment and had ran her hands through his hair once.

“It is not, François. I do have to carry her for three more weeks before she will be ready.”

“I cannot wait,” he had sighed and God had known that it had not been a lie. He truly had no longer been able to wait for their child to come, to get to experience the role of a father instead of solely that of a husband.

“Me neither, I never thought that I would miss sleeping on my back.”

“I can imagine.”

“I apologise but I do not think that you can.”

“Oh but I can. Do you not remember the time that I fell of my horse and hurt my back?”

“Now _that_ can hardly be compared.”

He had laughed out and had kissed her stomach yet again, “Ah yes, you are right. It was so much more painful...”

“François!” Maria Theresia’s hand pushing him back had not been strong enough to cause him to fall over, and he yet had let himself plop back down onto the mattress, stretching out his body and yawning obscenely before grinning at her.

“What?”

Maria Theresia had shaken her head, but a smile had been on her face as she had looked down at him, her left hand blindly stroking her stomach as it had done all so often. “I love you.”

Franz Stephan swallowed hard and refilled his glass anew. It was to late to allow his mind to go down that specific road of memories but he had been helpless to stop it, for the happiness that had dominated their lifes back then was just too alluring and so he merely filled his glass with another serving of wine, eyeing the full pitcher that stood on the small side table by the door. It would be sufficient for him to relive it all.

“Come here,” he had said, reaching out with one hand to show her that he had desired to have her close. She had accepted his offer and had, not without groaning from the exertion that it had taken her, laid down beside him and had turned onto her side so that he had been able to hug her from behind. “You ought to try and get some rest, my love.”

Maria Theresia had snorted and had brushed her hair to the side, thus revealing the side of her neck against which Franz Stephan had instantly nuzzled his face to pepper it with small kisses. “I would, but she is kicking me whenever I try to do so.”

“She is?” His hand had been taken and guided to her stomach, and Maria Theresia kept her hand on top of his as she pressed it down with just the slightest of pressure. He had gasped when he had felt what could indeed have been a kick against his palm and while it had not been the first time that he had felt it, it had tugged at his heart all the same. “Have you thought about a name yet?”

Maria Theresia had hummed in agreement. “I thought about Elisabeth, for your mother as well as mine.”

He had pulled a quick grimace even though she could not have seen it and cuddled a bit closer against her, tucking her head underneath his chin. “There have been so many of them...”

“We shall decide it when she is born, then.”

The next three weeks may have been the longest three weeks of Franz Stephan’s life. He had counted down the days to the due date that had been calculated by the doctors and midwifes, had made sure that he would not be bound into any of his royal duties that might demand him to leave the court of Vienna as he had not wanted to miss the birth of his first child. His daughter, with whom he had already seen himself bent over his many books, teaching her about mineralogy and the natural siences that had fascinated him ever since he had been a child himself. There had been multiple false alarms, as it had been Maria Theresia’s first pregnancy and she thus had not been able to read all of the signs correctly. The only thing amusing about those last three weeks had been the occasions when she would wake him up in the middle of the night to ask him, with batting eyelashes and soft eyes, to go and get her a sweet treat from the kitchen.

He had done it without complaining, smirking at the funny scene they had provided with Maria Theresia eating leftover cake during the early morning hours with Franz Stephan massaging the strain out of the sore muscles of her back. And then, a few minutes prior midday on Tuesday, February 5th 1737, while he had been participating in a conference at Karl’s side, he had gotten the notification that his wife had gone into labour and had requested his presence. Even if the conference would not have been cancelled right away, he would not have hesitated to act against protocol by dashing out of the conference room and to the part of the Hofburg that their apartmens were located in. He had been out of breath by the time that he had reached the desired door, but it had been the fact that Maria Theresia’s pained cries had already filled out the antechamber that had nearly robbed him of his breath.

“It is normal for the first birth to be worse than the following ones, Your Highness,” one of the midwives had said, pulling him out of his shock. He had not even noticed her sitting in a chair and standing up once she had seen him approaching. “Her Highness is waiting for you, Your Highness.”

“Is it... alright for me to go in?”

The midwife had nodded, “Yes, Your Highness. I would advocate it, as Her Highness could use the support.”

It would have been a lie if Franz Stephan would have said that he had not been somewhat frightened when he had opened the door to his wife’s private bedroom and had peeked inside. Half a dozen of midwives had seemed to huste and bustle about, aiding the doctor that had positioned himself between Maria Theresia’s spread legs. Considering her state of being, he had guessed that the birth had not just begun in the last half of an hour. “My love.” Closing the door behind him he had hurried to get to her side, a soft gasp escaping her when he laid his cool hand onto her burning forehead.

“François...”

Jean Baptiste Bassand, the court physician, had looked up at the same time that Franz Stephan had turned his head in order to address him and had nodded once before he had returned to his task. “You are doing so well, my love,” Franz Stephan had whispered, kissing her temple. Maria Theresia had been panting, unsuccessfully trying to change herself into a more comfortable position and he had swallowed hard when he had seen how her arms had trembled as she had tried so. Two of the midwives had came to his wife’s aid before he had had figured out how he could have been of help and he had taken a few steps back to watch how another pillow had been put underneath Maria Theresia’s shoulder.

“The cervix is widened and as soft as it ought to be,” the physician had stated as he had risen off the bed and had walked over to the basin to wash his hands. “I am certain that there will be no further problems, Your Highness.”

“What? There were problems?” The growl in Franz Stephan’s voice could not have been missed, “Why was I not notified earlier?”

Before he could have lost himself into a fit of range, however, one of Maria Theresia’s hands had came up to catch him by the wrist. “I,” she had been cut off by a pained gasp, “just was not ready for it. It is alright, François. It- _ah!_ ”

“Another pushing contraction, Sire,” the midwife at Maria Theresia’s side had said to the doctor prior to shifting her attention fully onto his wife. “Push, Your Highness, you must push.” Maria Theresia had complied and Franz Stephan had wished that he would have been able to help her, but with the midwives and doctor around the bed, there had, literally so, been no space for him.

“When did it start?”

“Shortly after Her Majesty was served her breakfast, Your Highness.”

He had been to open his mouth and start yelling again about _how unbelievable it was that he had only been notified now and not five hours ago_ , but one shared look with Maria Theresia had been enough to make him understood. She had not wanted to disturb him in his work. Oh, they would have a word about that later but right then Franz Stephan had nodded and smiled, hoping that it had been convincing. His knees had felt unusually weak and if a chair would not have been brought in for him just a few moments later, the chances of him collapsing would have been high.

“Very good, Your Highness,” the midwives had whispered to Maria Theresia after the pushing contraction had passed but she had not answered, had merely panted and kept her eyes closed as a cool cloth had been laid onto her forehead.

The following hours had been absolutely torturing, for his wife more so than for himself, of course, and in hindsight, Franz Stephan had not been able to tell how he had managed to sit in that chair for another four hours. His gaze had been fixed upon Maria Theresia, his most beloved wife, whose struggle had intensified the further the birth had went on. “I cannot,” she had cried at some point, “I cannot do this anymore.”

“It will not be much longer, Your Highness.”

“I cannot.” Maria Theresia had bursted out into sobs, causing the midwives as well as the doctor from stopping in their tracks.

“Your Highness-”

“My love.” With an aching back Franz Stephan had heaved himself out of the chair to come to his wife’s side, taking one of her hands into both of his.

Maria Theresia had been sight of pitty. Heavy-lidded and red-faced she had still been panting while she was being shaken by sobs at the same time. “I am so tired...”

“I know,” he had whispered, brushing a few strands of hair away from her sweat-covered face, “but think of our daughter, you will be able to hold her soon.” It had no longer been just her arms that had been trembling - her bent legs, which had been gently held apart by a midwife each, had shaken so badly that Franz Stephan had felt worry instead of anticipation gripping at his heart. He had not witnesses a birth before and while he had roughly known what to expect, he had been overwhelmed nonetheless and had whispered sweet words of encouragement to Maria Theresia for a few more moments.

A change in her mood had only occured when the doctor had exclaimed that he had already felt the baby’s head. To this day, Franz Stephan thought as nipped at the wine, he could remember the rush that had went through him when he had realised what the doctor had meant. _His child’s_ head. Jean Baptiste Bassand’s words, the prospect of the nearing end of the birth had managed to lift Maria Theresia’s spirits for the much needed last part but that time, Franz Stephan had not returned to his chair. He had stayed at his wife’s side, careful as to not hinder the midwives in their work and had kept Maria Theresia’s left hand securely in his right, trying not to make a sound when she had squeezed it painfully hard.

“Push push push, Your Highness, push!”, the midwife at Bassand’s side had spurred his wife on and what had happened in the next couple of minutes, Franz Stephan had failed to really fathom. Maria Theresia had pushed two more times, doubling up from the strain and the pain before she had fallen back onto the pillow with a gasp and a shrill cry had suddenly filled the room instead. _His child_. He had not know where to look, had not known whether it had been his wife or the small bundle which the doctor and midwives had been working with that had deserved his attention, but after a second or so he had leaned down to kiss the top of Maria Theresia’s head. She had been whimpering by then, though he had been unsure if it had been due to his kiss or what the midwive between her legs had been doing and he had kissed her again, stroking her hair. “It is a healthy girl, Your Highness.”

“A girl,” he had whispered, a choked sob escaping him as well. He had not been able to help it, for he had been simply too overwhelmed by the birth. “Do you hear that, my love? We have a daughter.”

Maria Theresia had merely gasped, probably because she had failed to find her voice, which, considering the struggle that she had went through, had been understandable and when he had tilted her head back to look at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, he had captured her into a deep kiss. They had been interrupted when the swaddled newborn had been placed onto Maria Theresia’s chest but God, Franz Stephan had never been more greatful for an interruption. He had continued to stroke her hair as he had watched, with a blurry vision, how she had brought the baby up to kiss its forehead before she had carefully touched their daughter’s tiny face with the back of one finger. “Hello, you,” she had whispered, her breath hitching and her body trembling as if she had tried to surpress another sob as the baby, _their daughter_ , had opened her eyes with the incoordination of a newborn.

A short while later Franz Stephan had left Maria Theresia’s private bedroom with the small bundle securely held in his arms. His beloved wife had fallen asleep after a few minutes of holding their daughter and nursing her for the first time, and it had been the doctor’s as well as the midwive’s suggestion that he ought to take the his newborn child with him. Not that he had argued about it. He had been absolutely fascinating by the small human that he had waited months for and had loved before he had even met her for the first time. As he had expected, there had been a relatively large group of courtiers that had come together in the antechamber, Karl and Maria Theresia’s mother, Elisabeth Christine, at the very top of it.

“What is it?”

“Our daughter will be baptised on the name Maria Elisabeth.” A few gasp and even sniffled had eroded as multiple congratulations had been called out and Franz Stephan had not even tried to banish the proud smile from his face as Maria Theresia’s parents had taken turns in appreciating their first grandchild.

“How is my daughter?”

“She is sleeping right now. Bassand told me that she will recover without problems.”

The archduke had nodded and had turned towards his wife, “We will visit her later, my sweet.” They had talked for a short while longer and when Karl had embraced him to whisper another congratulations ot him, long after the courtiers had left again, Franz Stephan’s vision had blurred anew. He had been never been so truly happy before.

As he cleared his throat and ran his hand over his face while shifting where he sat behind the writing desk of his study, the burn in his eyes was not one of happiness. He ususally managed to suppress the memories of Maria Elisabeth’s birth well enough for they were simply too painful. When he had held her in his arms, he never would have believed that... said happiness would be very short-lived. Taking a deep breath, Franz Stephan braced himself for next surge of memories.

Bassand had been right, Maria Theresia had recovered exceptionally well in childbed and had grown into her role as a mother without any problems. While bed rest had not been what she had necessarily liked, Franz Stephan had never seen her with anything but a smile on her face when he would return to their apartment and see her in bed, their daughter peacefully sleeping in her arms. Good God, how he had loved that child who had been the perfect mixture of himself and the woman he loved. Maria Elisabeth had been such a sweet little girl and had, to no great surprose, won her grandfather’s heart in a storm, so much that Karl had bought her a first set of jewels when she had turned just six months old.

The archduke had absolutely adored her, had nicknamed her _Liesl_ and had often spend entire afternoons with her, thus enabling his daughter and son-in-law to spend some equally cherished time together. Maria Theresia had refused to leave their daughter to the sole attention of the nursemaid, stating that there had not been a need for it as long as she would not have any siblings and Franz Stephan had agreed, of course he had. He must had spend hours talking to Maria Elisabeth in that nonsense baby voice once Maria Elisabeth had begun to babble and oh, how his heart had soared when he had gotten to hear her laughter. Every ounce of free time had been spend with his little family, he had even negotiated the hunts to which he had usually accompanied Karl multiple times a week.

He had cherished the time, knowing, with a strangely aching heart, that his daughter would not stay so young for long. A grand week of celebrations had been arranged when their daughter had left nursery on her first birthday as a truly happy and healthy child, and to Franz Stephan, the prospect of loving her any less because she had been _a girl_ had been unfathomable. He feared however that he, if he would not have been partially raised by Karl, would have done just that. He still remembered how disappointed his father had been when his mother had given birth to his sister, how his father had even refused to do so much as to hold the baby because it had not been another son. Here, in Vienna and with Maria Theresia at his side, there had been space for nothing but love.

When he had daydreamed during those months, he had seen them surrounded by an entire flock of children, surrounded by children’s laughter that would fill the many spacious room of the Hofburg. His world had been brighter than it had ever been before, and it had gotten even brighter when Maria Theresia, a few months after Maria Elisabeth’s first birthday, had found out that she had been pregnant with their second child. He had been lying in bed with his daughter sleeping on top of him when his wife had told him of her circumstances.

[...]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part will be up in a few days! :-)


	2. Chapter 1 - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that the next chapter won't be so long - I just really needed so write the ground setting for the story like it grew in my head. It wouldn't make sense otherwise xD
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

“You are?”

If it would not have been for Maria Elisabeth resting on his chest, he would have jumped up and hugged Maria Theresia who had sat down on the bed beside him to kiss him and to run her hand through their daughter’s soft brown curls. “I knew it even before Bassand confirmed it, reading the signs with the second one truly is a lot easier.”

“God, I love you so much.”

She had hummed and grinned quite mischievously as she kissed him again, “I am eager to find out if you will still think so when I wake you and demand to be given a piece of cake, François.”

His chest had clenched when he had looked up at her beautiful face and for a short moment, he had feared that he would be unable to keep his tears at bay. “You know that I would do everything I only could for the both of you...”

Maria Theresia had clicked her tongue, and her gaze had been soft as she had brought their faces closer together. “I do know that,” she had whispered, stroking his cheeks, “I love you.”

“What do you think it will be? Another girl?”

“I cannot possibly tell that yet,” his wife had laughed, sitting up again and Franz Stephan had known that he had not imagined the surge of love that had shot through him when he had seen how she had laid her hand onto her stomach. He would never get tired of seeing it. “If it will keep my up at night as much as Liesl did, I will guess that it will be another girl.”

Franz Stephan had not missed how Maria Theresia had bit her lip for just a second as she had averted her gaze away. “Another girl will be just fine,” he had spoken with a voice much lower than it would have needed to be, reaching out to lay his hand on top of Maria Theresia’s. “I will love her all the same.”

“How happy I am to be with you, François,” she had whispered back and while it would have been a lie if he would have said that he had not seen her tears, he had known that she would be thankful if he would pretend that he had not. She had always hated how emotional she would get during her pregnancies.

“And how happy I am that you chose to marry me and not... Friedrich of Prussia, for example.”

His words had the wished effect: Maria Theresia had snorted a laugh. “I rather would have entered a monastery.”

“That would have been a shame.” She had sobered rather quickly and had returned to look down at her stomach, where his hand had still rested on top of hers. “What is it, mon cœr.”

“I... do not know. I am worried that something might go wrong.”

He had brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, “Nothing went wrong the last time.”

Then that ten years had passed since then, Franz Stephan only shook his head. How naive and how stupid he had been to believe that it would all continue to go on smoothly. _How stupid_. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, feeling the sudden desire to go and wake his sleeping wife in order to embrace her.

“I know that,” she had said, covering his hand with her free one. “And yet I am worried, do not ask for me to explain.”

“I will take care of you, Theresia. I will make sure that nothing will happen to you or our child, do you understand? I promise that I will.” He could not have known that he never would have been able to keep the promise he had made to her in the excitement of the moment, and neither could he have known that it would come around to haunt him a decade later.

“I know that you will.” Other than the worry that had never quite left Maria Theresia’s mind, her second pregnancy had gone by without any incident. Her bump had grown and just as it had been when she had been pregnant with Maria Elisabeth, Franz Stephan had been utterly enamoured by her and the glow that had seemed to surround her. Yes, she had indeed woken him up on more than one occasion to tell him that she had been _oh so terribly hungry_ and as he had done it two years before, he had gotten out of bed without a single complain and had found her something sweet to eat. Chocolate, preferably, as Maria Theresia no longer had a taste for the cake that she had craved after in her first pregnancy. “You are too good to me,” she had sighed when he had returned to their sleeping chamber one night, carrying an entire tray of chocolates that the court confectioner had made on Franz Stephan’s order and he had chuckled at the way that her eyes had been glued onto the treats.

“That is what I like to hear,” he had said, passing her the tray before he had climbed back underneath his covers.

“François?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I am worried.”

Franz Stephan had turned over onto his side, grinning at the sight of Maria Theresia resting the tray on the swell of her stomach. “About what?”

“The child, I...”

“You are not able to explain it, I know.”

She had smiled at him as she had bitten down onto one of the chocolates, “You know me too well.”

“I know you well enough, my love,” he had snorted and had shuffled until his face had been at the same height as the swell of her stomach, in which his second child had been growing. “And you, you little thing, are not supposed to worry your mother already.” Maria Theresia had laughed heartedly at the playfully scolding tone with which he had spoken to their unborn child. “I will be quite displeased if you do not stop.”

“François!”

“What?”

“If I were to judge by the kick I just received against my bladder, I would say that she is not very pleased with you either.”

“Oh you will be a little troublemaker, I can already tell that,” he had muttered against Maria Theresia’s stomach while running one hand over it, smiling at his wife’s laughter. It, after all, had been his duty to ease the worry off her shoulder, even if it would be for a short while only. “Kicking your Mama because you are unhappy with what your Papa said to you? Already such a little troublemaker...”

“Just like her father then.” While the midwives had been uncertain about what to say of the child’s gender, Maria Theresia had since come to conclusion that it must have been another girl. “I have never been able to sleep less,” she had said when she had entered the last month of her pregnancy, “so she will definitely be a girl.” Franz Stephan had not argued with her - he had been happy. Courtiers had been talking about it, of course they had. _How he could be so happy_ , they had said behind raised fans, _when they already have a daughter_ and usually, he had not listened to their chattering that had been fuelled by boredom and the need to somehow be of relevance. He would not have listened to it if it would not have begun to affect Maria Theresia enough to doubt whether he had been honest or not. He had not blamed her for it, had merely made sure to remind her that he had in fact meant it. A daughter or a son, it had not mattered to him; he had not been worried that they would not have a son someday.

Franz Stephan snorted and took an almost angry sip from his glass. Ha, if only he would have known back then.

Their second child, Maria Anna, had been born on October 6th, 1738. It had been a rainy and unusually cold day for a Monday October, a day that Franz Stephan’s duties had demanded for him to be present in Hietzing rather than Vienna and at first, it had not bothered him - no birth had been forecasted for that 6th of October. Maria Theresia had been of good spirits when he had left her during the early morning hours, had told him that she had been able to sleep surprisingly well. “She did not kick me much tonight,” she had said, and in hindsight it had been said little detail that should have consumed Franz Stephan’s entire attention, considering that the baby had usually kicked and annoyed her to no end during the nights. “Maybe she is granting me a chance to relax before she will be due.”

“I am certain that she will, my love.” He had kissed her lips and had carressed the swell of her stomach one last time before he had left their bedroom for the carriage that had been waiting for him in the courtyard of the Hofburg. It had been his duty, as the Grand Duke of Toskany, to deal with the nobles that had come from Florence to Vienna in order to try and raise their ranks in his dukedom and since it would have caused too much of a tumult for them to come together in the Hofburg with other ongoing royal conferences circling around wars and finances, Franz Stephan had accepted Karl’s offer to retreat to the palace for the duration of the negotion. He had been supposed to stay in Hietzing for two days before returning to Vienna and to his wife’s side, but it had been during the second day’s breakfast that an urgent letter from Vienna had been delivered to him. It had stated that _Her Royal Highness went into labour a few minutes before midnight and delivered a daughter at four in the morning_. He had not even touched a piece of his breakfast before he had ordered his valet to ensure that the carriage would be ready in no more than ten minutes. A daughter, they had another daughter.

Tapping the rim of his glass against his lips, Franz Stephan did not make a single sound as his heart pouding almost painfully hard in his chest.

On the way back to Vienna, his thoughts had been dominated by happiness and worry alike. Their child, which they had agreed on naming Maria Anna if it should indeed happen to be a girl, had not been supposed to be born for another two weeks. Had it not been too early? He had not been certain, though had remembered that one of Maria Theresia’s midwives had once told him how the last twenty days of a pregnancy had been reserved to the child’s growth alone. A strange silence had reigned in the wing of the Hofburg that had housed the royal apartmens, and back then, Franz Stephan never would have considered that there would be a time in his life when he would be surrounded by nothing but that silence. It had confused him when he had hurried up staircase into the second floor, had opened the foor and had found the antechamber discarded but for Jean Baptiste Bassand and a midwife, who had been quietly standing on each side of the door that had lead to Maria Theresia’s private bedroom.

His heart had plummeted into the pit of his stomach but before he had managed to find his voice, the door had opened and Karl had emerged from the bedroom. It still caused Franz Stephan’s throat to feel too tight every time that he recalled those memories. The archduke had appeared as devestated as when Franz Stephan had seen him after his Maria Theresia’s sister had died and he had failed to suppress a sharp gasp, blood rushing in his ears. _No. No, no no no._ The need to see his wife and his daughter had been overwhelming, yet his legs had moved with an unmatched slowness. He had barely registered it when Karl had moved over to him to put a hand onto his shoulder, squeezing it.

“I am sorry, Son.”

 _No!_ He had not known whether he had brought that cry over his lips or had kept it in the privacy of his mind - he had known, however, that he had stumbled forward towards the door and had opened it, utterly frightened of what he would be met with. The bedroom had been just as quiet as the antechamber but when Franz Stephan had spotted his beloved wife propped up on a stack of pillow, he had sighed in relief. His relief, however, had been short-lived. He had just breathed her name, “Theresia,” when she had looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and too pale of a face. She had looked as if she had not slept at all, but what had caused Franz Stephan’s heart to freeze and eventually to break into a thousand pieces had been the small bundle that she had held in her arms. Even from the distance he had seen that the baby’s, _their daughter’s_ face had been colored in an unatural shade of blue.

 _Oh God, no, please..._ It had been to late to pray to God. Maria Theresia had managed to withstand his gaze for a few more moments before she had broken down with a heartbreaking sob. Gently hugging the lifeless bundle to her chest, her body had nearly doubled over from the force with which the sobs had torn through her. Franz Stephan had never heard her cry like that before. In combination with the realisation that his child had not been alive his wife’s cries had caused his own façade to crumble and dissolve as well. He had somehow managed to cross the room and reach Maria Theresia’s bedsite before the first sob had escaped him, not able to understand why God had taken his daughter’s life without granting him the chance to hold her only once. Maria Anna had been a beautiful baby, the features of her face already so perfect - but the blue that had coloured her lips and eyelids had acted as a brutal reminder of what neither of them had really understood: that their daughter had been granted a chance to take her first breath.

Franz Stephan did not know how they had lived through the next few weeks, through the entombment of the little bronze sarcophagus into the imperial crypt and the sobering feeling that there had been something, _someone_ missing in their lives. Maria Elisabeth had been too young to understand what had been going on, but Franz Stephan was certain that she must have noticed how gravely ber mother had changed from one day to another. While he had found solace in his living daughter, Maria Theresia could not have looked at her for a good month afterwards. When Maria Elisabeth would cry and stretch her little arms out for her mother, wanting to be held, Maria Theresia had downright bolted out of the room. While he had believed that she had no longer wanted to participate in the role of the loving mother she had been, he would only much later find out that Maria Theresia had not been able to look at Maria Elisabeth because she had not _dared_ to, because she had been scared of losing their toddler daughter as well.

God, what a justified fear it had been. Franz Stephan’s chin trembled as he looked at the glass in his hand. He detested drinking like this, but the alcohol did make the ache in his heart a bit more bearable for the moment. It had not only been the loss of his infant daughter, Maria Anna, that had teared a wound into his heart, and he was certain that he would have been able to deal with it better if Maria Theresia’s entire demeanour would not have changed so greatly. Seeing the woman he loved acting as nothing but a mere shadow of her past self had, in a way, been even more painfull than coming to terms with the death of his daughter.

Maria Anna had never lived while Maria Theresia had been so full of life that having to live with what had been her shell had broken his heart all over again. At every given occasion, be it during family dinners or public banquets, she had sat there dressed in black and with a blank face, unwilling, or even not able to participate in the conversations that had been going on around her. It had been as if the light had been extinguished behind her eyes. They had both knew that the risk of children dying was high had not helped at all - he had nearly strangled the court physician when he had tried to tell them _that things as such happen_. Yes, they may happen but they had not been supposed to happen; not to them and especially not to the children that had been the result of their love. Franz Stephan had withstood the sight of his wife wasting away in front of his very own eyes for a month before he had decided that he would himself die if he would be forced to stand by and watch it any longer. He, in fact, rather would have died than have to attend his beloved Maria Theresia’s funeral as well.

It had been Karl’s idea for them to leave Vienna for a while. “You are suffering,” the archduke had told him, “and so is my daughter. I fear that she will never recover from the loss of your child if she is to stay here.”

Franz Stephan had slumped in his chair, “Where are we supposed to go? Winter is approaching and...” He had trailed off, had hidden his face in his hands and had squeezed his eye shut to prevent himself from breaking out into tears anew.

Karl surely must had felt him trembling when he had laid a hand onto his shoulder. “I would be happy to grant you a stay in Laxenburg, son. She always loved it there.”

So they had left for Laxenburg, which, with the two-hours long carriage ride that it took to get there, had not been too far away from Vienna in mid-November. It had taken some time, months before Maria Theresia had begun to somewhat return to being her old self. Karl had been right when he had said that she would be able to heal better if she would not reside in the city; when the summer of 1739 had showed itself, Franz Stephan had often see her down in the garden of the relatively small palace, playing ball with Maria Elisabeth. Yes, the time in Laxenburg had done them well. While the grief over their lost daughter had not disappeared, it had steadily been pushed rather into the background of their lives, which had mostly been due to their living daughter.

Maria Elisabeth had been such a sweet little girl, always so happy and demanding the attention of her parents and nursemaids alike that Franz Stephan and Maria Theresia simply had not enough time to burry themselves in their grief. For him, it had been healing to see that Maria Theresia had spend a lot more time with their daughter again and slowly but steadily, they had found a way back to each other. Good God, how he had loved her through it all. Despite the hint of sadness that had never quite left from her eyes, she had stopped wearing black mourning attire, had smiled more often and had even travelled to Vienna to attend a masquerade ball on the occasion of her mother’s birthday. That she had been pregnant with their third child, she had told him when they had been sitting on a bench in the garden of Laxenburg palace and had watched Maria Elisabeth play with one of their dogs.

“There is... something that I need to tell you,” Maria Theresia had begun, her gaze firmly casted down where she had been fumbling with a handkerchief.

He had brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “What is it, mon cœr.” 

“I am carrying another child.”

Other than the prior two times that she had told him, neither of them had laughed or expressioned their enthusiasm about the news. He remembered that he had swallowed hard, “How far along?”

“I missed two of my bleeds.”

It had been a strange scene, he had yearned to hug her, to kiss her and to tell her how happy he had been but had failed to do so. What had made the situation even worse for him had been the fact that Maria Theresia had obviously hoped for him to do so. So he had not exclaimed his exclaimed his excitement, and neither had he asked whether or not she had a feeling about what it would be. _If_ it would be. Franz Stephan had turned his gaze back towards his daughter, who had still been playing with the yapping small dog, and had only noticed that his wife had been crying when she had dabbed at her eyes. Her silent tears had send a dagger into his heart. Maria Theresia had gasped softly when he had reached out and had taken one of her hands, squeezing it once. He had failed to find his voice in that moment, but had hoped that the small gesture had been enough to show her that he had still been with her. Their life had seemed to take a turn for the better - and by God, he had not been ready for the worsening that had set in instead.

Franz Stephan gasped when he felt a sudden clenching in his chest, his eyes burning from the tears that had risen into them but which he strictly refused to be shed. Maria Elisabeth, his little angel. How God could have been so cruel and take her away from him, he never understood.

The horror had begun when his beloved young daughter, then three mere years of age, had thrown up after breakfast once morning in June of 1740. She had been fine otherwise and since Jean Baptiste Bassand had claimed that there had not been a reason for them to worry, they had not worried as much as they, in hindsight, should have. Maria Elisabeth had developed a light fever during the afternoon hours of the same day and Bassand, who had been called again, had decided to stay at her side. He still remembered how Maria Theresia and him had tucked her in that night, how his daughter had smiled at him when he had given her the stuffed animal that she had not been able to sleep without. “Mama.”

The smile on Maria Theresia’s face had been a honest one as she had stroked Maria Elisabeth’s brown curls. “You sleep now, mon petit. I do promise that you feel much better tomorrow, alright?” He had kissed their daughter’s too-warm forehead after his wife had done it and had, when he had exited Maria Elisabeth’s room, thrown one last look at her from over his shoulder.

Franz Stephan slammed his once more empty glass down onto the table in front of him with a much greater force than he had wanted to before he stood to retrieve the second pitcher of wine. Once he rose onto his feet, however, he felt the effects of the alcohol wash over him like a tidal wave and he needed to steady himself against his writing desk for a few moments before he could have trusted his legs again. What a pathetic excuse of a man he was, trying to drown his immense grief in wine.

They had not spoken more than a few words before they had retreated to their private bedroom each, had merely bid each other “A restful night” before disappearing behind closed doors, even though it had been him who had watched Maria Theresia do so first. Without his wife at his side, Franz Stephan had struggled greatly to come to rest. That she had conceived another child could only have been described as sheer luck for they had rarely gotten so close ever since Maria Anna’s unfortunate death. He had eventually found his way into Morpheus’ arms, but had not been granted a chance to rest for as much as he would have needed to. It could not have been long after midnight when he had been roughly awakened by someone rapidly knocking at his door and he, with a groan, had set up as he had granted a permission for the person to enter. It had been his valet.

The older man had been slightly out of breath and the look on his colorless face had been anything but promising, albeit Franz Stephan had been too busy with rubbing his eyes to notice it right away. “Sire... it is the young princess.”

“What?”

Before the valet could have answered, he had heard a cry and footsteps coming from the corridor and had seen through the opened door how Maria Theresia had ran into the direction of Maria Elisabeth’s room, his wife’s maids following closely behind her. _Oh God, please no_.

“Sire?”

Franz Stephan had been on his feet from one second to another, his hands trembling when he pulled his morning robe tightly around him as he had already been out on the corridor. He had heard Maria Theresia’s cries of “No!” and “Not my daughter, not my daughter!” before he had even reached the room and to this day, he had not forgotten the feeling of dread and utter helplessness that had brutally taken hostage of his heart when he had come to stand in the door of his daughter’s room. He would never be able to forget the sight of her lying lifelessly on her pillow, just as he could still recall Maria Theresia’s heartbroken cries when she had broken down at their deceased daughter. Franz Stephan had not understood, could not have fathomed how it had been possible for her to have died from what had felt like one moment to another and it had been the sheer shock that had frozen him, that had made him strangely numb. He had not cried, had not yelled and had not broken down as he had stared at the heartbreaking scene in front of him. How he had managed to stay on his feet was a great wonder to him. Even after all those years, he yet had to stop missing her. “Mon petit,” Maria Theresia had sobbed, stroking Maria Elisabeth’s curls, “reviens vers moi, reviens vers moi mon petit.”

All of Maria Theresia’s pleading, all of her sobbed begging had been in vain. Their daughter’s eyes had stayed close and no color had risen into her pale face as nearly everyone in the room had cried, down to the maids and even the court physician had tears in his eyes. It would only be after the autopsy that would find out about the ulcer that had grown in her tiny stomach, had eventually sealed her fate of death by bursting and causing a fever to burn through her body. Franz Stephan had continued to stand in the door for only God had known how long, his knuckles standing out white where he had held onto the wooden frame and just as he had been absolutely certain that his life could not possibly take a turn for the worse, one of Maria Theresia’s chambermaids had let out a gasp of shock.

“Y-You are bleeding. Your Highness, you are bleeding!” The maid had been right; while the nightdress that his wife had been wearing had covered her legs down to her ankles, it could not have cover the droplets of blood that had fallen onto the ground between her feet.

“Theresia,” he had breathed, his heart racing fast enough to make him worry whether he would withstand the next few minutes and as if she had only realised it then, Maria Theresia’s face had paled a shade nearly equal to that of their recently deceased daughter and had taken a few unsteady steps back, her hands having flown to her stomach. _Oh_ _God, what have they done to deserve this all of this suffering._ “Theresia!” Her legs had given out before he had reached her side and he had been forced to watch how his unconscious wife had been carried out of the room, torn between his child and wife. _Oh God, what have I done_. When Franz Stephan had eventually came to stand at Maria Elisabeth’s bedside, the first tears had claimed their way down his face and he had choked a sob as he had turned his face away, unable to look at his beloved daughter’s lifeless face and in hindsight, he would not know how he had managed to leave her side. “Rest easy, my love,” he had whispered against her cooling forehead before he had kissed it and had turned to follow where they had taken Maria Theresia. “Is my wife in there?”, he had asked the guard that had positioned himself in front of the door, blinking hard in confusion when he had not been granted entry.

“The doctor requested privacy while he is examining Her Highness.”

He had thought about whether he ought to argue or not, but had, in the end, merely sank down on one of the decorative chair at the opposite wall and had hidden his face in his hands. When he would return to Vienna, so he had though in that moment, he would do so with three dead children to his name. Franz Stephan pulled a quick grimace as he took yet another sip from the wine, having since grown tired of it. But with Pandora’s box of memories long opened, he knew that drinking was the only thing that he could hold on in that moment. For how long he had sat outside of Maria Theresia’s room he had not known but when the door had been opened, he had hurried, but failed, to wipe the wetness out of his face. “How is she?”

Jean Baptiste Bassand had come to stand in front of him, holding his hands behind his back. “Her Highness is... weakened by the death of the princess, Your Highness.” Franz Stephan had closed his eyes and had nodded, bouncing a knee in order to try and keep his composure upright. “It also appears that Her Highness is eating too little, which is weakening her body.”

He had grit his teeth together, as it that damned physician had not known what answer he had yearned for the most. Yet he had tried to keep his voice at a friendly tone as he spoke, “The pregnancy...”

“Luck seemed to have been on Her Highness’ side, Your Highness,” Bassand had said with a bow of his head. “She did not lose the child.”

Good God, how overwhelmed he had been, tired due to the few mere hours of sleep he had and absolutely devastated by the fact that Maria Elisabeth had been lying deceased in her bed at the far end of the corridor. “She did not?”

“No, Your Highness. I am certain that Her Highness did not, as her cervix is still intact.”

“Then where did the blood come from.” “A stress bleed, Your Highness. They happen quite frequently if...” _If a pregnant mother loses a child?_

“I understand. Am I allowed to see her now?”

“Yes, Your Highness. May I give a piece of advice?”

“You may.”

“I would advise that Her Highness must not be put under any more stress, Your Highness.”

“I understand.” His beloved wife had been lying in bed when Franz Stephan had worked up the courage to enter her room. She had been covered up to her neck with a blanket and the way that her head bad been tilted, he had been able to tell that she had fallen asleep. “Mon cœr...” Careful, as not to wake her, he had sat down on the edge of the king-sized bed to brush a few strands of unruly hair away from her face with gentle fingers. Oh, how much he had loved her. He still did so to this very day. Once he had sat at her side, had watched her sleep and had brushed the hair back that had instantly fallen back from where he had removed it, reality had begun to sink in. While Maria Theresia had broken down with sobs that had seemingly filled out the entire palace, he had given into his tears in silence. His voice had been interrupted by a sob he failed to suppress as he had whispered, “I love you, Theresia. I-I need you by my side.” He had shaken his head, not stoping the brushing motion. “There will be no one left if you are to leave me as well.”

She had not left him, but the entire week after Maria Elisabeth’s death had been filled with the fear of her doing so. On the court physician’s advice, Maria Theresia had stayed on bed rest for the week. “To protect Her Highness as well as the baby,” Bassand had reasoned, and she had not tried to argue about it, had silently accepted it instead. Karl had been hit by the death of his Liesl just as hard as Franz Stephan and Maria Theresia had, and the next blow of fate had come when the archduke had died as suddenly as Maria Elisabeth had due to food poisoning. He had been so worried about his wife, who, in the span of a few months, had lost two children, her father and apparently her hope for life. It had been a hearbreaking sight to see her living as a mere shadow of herself while her stomach was growing with the sign of life inside of her, for it had seemed as if she had given her last bit of energy to carry the child inside of her - a child which neither of them had any hope would survive.

They had not spoken about it, of course they had not, but Franz Stephan knew that they had both thought the same. Within three years they had lost their entire family and he had been terrified that the next thing they would lose would be each other. Their life together had changed drastically after Maria Theresia’s coronation on the twenty-second of November, 1740. With the heavy duty of the crown put onto her as well, she had distanced herself from him. He had not known whether it had been intentionally or not, but he had known that it had torn him apart. While it had been him who she had spend the most time with before, it had become the advisory council of Karl that Maria Theresia had surrounded herself with. While he had been appointed as coregent, a role that had been his sole one until he had been coronated as Karl’s successor on the throne of the Holy Roman Empire in 1745, there had not been many duties that he had needed to fulfill - in his situation a curse rather then a blessing, for it had left him with too much time to think.

Whenever his grief and despair had become too much he had retreated into his study and had worked on his plan for his menagerie in Schönbrunn, though even when he had been bend over his many files, all that he had been able to think in the back of his head had been his three children. Two daughter which he had been forced to entomb in the imperial crypt, two small bronze sarcophagi that always robbed him of his breath when he would visit them to pay his respect and one child growing inside of his wife. He had known that Maria Theresia had blamed himself for the deaths; he had tried to tell her that it had been most unnecessary, of course, but it had been of no avail. Franz Stephan had tried to not keep count of how many evenings he had heard her crying in the antechamber of their apartment when she had been certain that he had slept and thus could not hear her. It had broken his heart every time anew and by the time that the year of 1741 had begun, he had been utterly desperate. Missing his children and his wife alike, Franz Stephan had been at a loss about what to do with himself.

While he had not nearly cried as much as Maria Theresia had, he had sometimes laid awake entire nights because his mind had not allowed his body to rest and while it had been a scary thought, he, in those times, had sometimes wished to be with his children instead. Hours, days and eventually weeks had passed by without him having been really aware of them, the only things acting as proof Maria Theresia’s steadily growing bump. It was no lie when Franz Stephan would have said that he still felt his heart break when he relived the memories of those months - they had been some of the hardest months of his life.

The few words that they had spoken to each other had rarely ever circled around the child that they had been expecting. He had not asked her once about what she had thought it would be, had not asked what the midwives had told her. It had not been as if he had not _wanted_ to know, but he could not allow another child into his heart if he would only lose it again and it had been utterly shameful that Maria Theresia had apparently known that as well. When he had asked her if he may feel her stomach, during a period where she had just entered her last month of the pregnancy, she had prohibited him from doing so by stating that it would hurt. He had known that it would not hurt, had remembered how much she had loved it when he had done it during her first two pregnancies but had not insisted on being granted a permission. While he had missed Maria Anna’s birth two years earlier by accident, he had deliberately left the Hofburg on the thirteenth of March 1741 when Jean Baptiste Bassand had notified him that the birth of his third child had been nearing. Franz Stephan should have known that he would only end up regretting his decision, but as overwhelmed as he had still been with his grief he had not thought twice about visiting Schönbrunn to see how the construction of his menagerie had been processing - without notifying Maria Theresia about it.

He had spend a good few hours talking with Jean Nicolas Jadot de Ville-Issey over the plans for the menagerie that the court architect, whom he had brough with him to Vienna from his home in Lorraine, had prepared on his order, and had stayed on the grounds of Schönbrunn until the sun had set and it had been time for him to return to the city. There had been a strange atmosphere surrounding him when he had arrived that the Hofburg, one that he, however, had not been able to read. A _buzzing_ had seemed to surround him, so as if he had been the only one that had been unaware of something that he should have known and his suspicion had only intensified when he had moved into the dining hall to attend to dinner but had found the room empty. Then, as he was sitting in his study, he was able to chuckle about it, but back then, he had been anything but amused and it had just been when he had slammed his hand on top of the not-laid table that his valet had entered the hall. “Wilhelm, what in God’s name is the meaning of this!”

“Sire,” the valet had greeted him, obviously trying to sound nonchalant as he had greeted Franz Stephan with a quick bow of his head.

“I asked what the meaning of this is, Wilhelm.”

“’Tis on Her Majesty’s order, Sire.”

“Her order.”

The older man had stalled for a short moment before he had answered, “Her Majesty is too exhausted from the birth, Sire.”

Franz Stephan had been aware of the way that his face had fallen and how he had stared at the valet and juding by the way that the other had swallowed, an outburst of fury had been expected from him. It had not come. “The birth?”, he had merely answered with a voice that had been too soft, too low, and dread had filled his chest at the valet’s answer.

“It was Her Majesty’s direct order to not notify you, Sire. It was out of my power.”

“I understand,” he had retorted when he, in truth, had not understood it at all. Why had Maria Theresia refused to let him know... “Where is she?”

“In her bedroom, Sire. Shall I accompany you?”

“Please.” He nor his valet had spoken a word when they had made their way to the royal apartment, and he had clenched his hands behind his back as he had tried to control himself. Franz Stephan just had not been ready to see another child of his deceased. He just had not been ready. Thanking the valet with a nod of his head, he had raised his hand to knock at the door of his wife’s bedroom, expecting to hear either cries or the voice of the court physician calling him in. He had taken a step away from the door as he had waited and when it had been opened, it had been Maria Theresia’s midwife that he had been greeted with.

“Your Majesty,” the midwife had said, stepping aside and bowing her head to show that he had been granted access to the archduchess’ room before she walked off.

 _Please God, just this one. Just let us have this one._ “Close the door, please.” It had clearly been Maria Theresia’s voice that had spoken to him and he had closed his eyes for a moment before he had did what she had ordered him to do and moved further into the room, only to stop in his tracks once his wife’s bed had come into sight. There she had been, his beloved Theresia, propped up against a mountain of pillows and... nursing their newborn child. One of the child’s tiny, still reddened hand had been wrapped around Maria Theresia’s index fingers that she had been dangling absentmindedly in front of the child’s face. She still had not looked at him.

“Wha...”, Franz Stephan had set on, but his voice had failed on him and he had trembled as he had stood a few meters away from the bed, uttermost confused by the scene in front of him. There had been a hundred questions flashing through his mind. None of them had left him as he had watched Maria Theresia nurse their child, though his thin façade had crumbled when she had hummed and had kissed the child’s head. “Why-Why did you not tell me?”

It had only been then that she had looked up at him for the first time, her eyes as tear-filled as his had been. “It was obvious that you are not interested.”

“Not interested? _Not interested?_ ” He head tried to sound angy, insulted even, though all that had underlined his words had been a sob.

Maria Theresia had not answered, had merely shaken her head before she had turned her attention to the newborn in her arms again. “I-I wanted to protect you, François.”

“Protect me?”

She had raised her gaze once again, “I can see how much you miss Liesl and since I was not certain that...”

“Theresia, my love.” Not bothering to wipe at the tears that had claimed their way down his face, he had taken the last few steps towards the bed with incredibly unsteady legs to lower himself onto the mattress beside Maria Theresia with another sob. “My love... it would have been on me to protect you. I-I would have liked to be there, you did not have to do it alone.”

“Do you forgive me?”

His hand had trembling when he had reached out to carress her cheek, “I always would.” Instead of dread, warmth had filled out his chest when he had seen her teary smile.

“Thank you.”

Franz Stephan had been utterly enamoured by both his wife and the child she had been nursing and while he had yearned to hold it, he would not have dared to take it away from her. He had watched how the child had drunk with slow, but very much eager movements. _Oh thank you God_. Maria Theresia had pulled the wide hem of her nightdress over her exposed breast before she, with the gentleness that only a mother possessed, had lifted the child to lay it onto her chest and bounce it softly. He had been so drawn in by the image that he would have forgotten to breathe if it would not have been a reflex. “You should hold him, François.”

“What?” It had escaped him before he had even fully processed what she had said and he had turned his gaze towards her face instead of the newborn on her chest, openly gaping at her.

A soft smile had grown on Maria Theresia’s face as she had wrapped her arms around the child’s small body to lift it off her chest. “You ought to hold him.”

“It is a boy?”

She had nodded and when she had slowly sat up to place the child in her arms, Franz Stephan truly had stopped breathing for a good few seconds. “He is your son.” _His son_.

“Take him,” he had whispered, almost frantically so, “take him away from me, Theresia.”

While panic had been clearly audible in his voice, Maria Theresia had merely leaned back against the pillows to watch him, her hands folded over her stomach. “You will not drop him, my love.”

How she had known that it had been his greatest fear - him dropping the newborn onto the floor even though he had been sitting on the bed - he had not known. “Take him...” It had been less of a protest than a proof of just how overwhelmed he had been as he had looked down at his sleeping son. _His son, oh he had a son._ God had known that he would not have been disappointed if it would have been another daughter, he would have loved another girl. But since they had already lost two in a row, his heart probably would have been filled with a lot more grief if he would have been holding another daughter in his arms. There had still been tears making their way down his face, though by then they had been accompanied by a wide smile. “My son...” Albeit still a bit scrunched up from the time that he had spend in his mother’s womb, the child, Joseph, had been absolutely beautiful and Franz Stephan could not deny that he had already been in love with him in that very second. Another tear had freed itself from his eyes when his son had blinked laboriously to look up at him with not yet seeing eyes, yawning profusely. “He is so beautiful, Theresia.”

“He comes after you, I can tell that,” his wife had said, but all that Franz Stephan had heard had been _unlike our daughters_ and while he had been certain that this angel in his arms had looked like his beloved wife, he had not tried to convince her of it. He was able to retell how he had felt even eight years later - it had been the first glimmer of hope after a long time of grief and despair. A few more minutes had passed, minutes during which he had focused his entire attention onto the small child, _his son_ , that had rested in the crook of his arm and had seemed perfectly content with himself until the newborn had began to squirm and make a tiny whimpering sound. Franz Stephan had looked at Maria Theresia, expecting her to take him, but his wife had smiled and gestured towards the bassinet that had stood on the opposite side of the bed. “He is tired.”

“Do you... not want to take him?”

She had clicked her tongue and if he would not have concentrated on lifting his son against his chest, he would have seen how something behind her eyes had changed. “He is not the first child you are holding, François. They are not made out of glass.”

He had known that very well but yet had felt the need to stand up with the uttermost of carefulness, making sure that his hold ony the tiny warm body had neither been too hard nor too loose when he had stood from the bed to round it. His son had stopped squirming, though had continued to whimper softly as Franz Stephan had put him down into the bassinet after having kissed the top of his head. “Are you certain that-”

“Stop it,” his wife had interrupted him, successfully shutting him up. He had not turned around to face her, but had continued to stand at the bassinet, his hands holding onto the edge of the cradle that his son had fallen asleep in. He had been unable to watch anything but the rise and all of his son’s chest, absolutely frightened that it would stop if he would look away. That his hands had no longer only held on to, but had grabbed the bassinet, he had not noticed. “François.” A few seconds of silence had passed. “François, come here.”

“I cannot,” he had whispered, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat and sending a short prayer to his daughters that he had not been granted the chance to keep.

“Please, come to me my love.”

“Theresia...”

“It will not change anything if you continue to stand there,” Maria Theresia’s smile had been a rather sad one and she had reached out with one hand, thus making it impossible for him to refuse.

 _Please let us have this one_. Franz Stephan had taken his wife’s hand once he had been close enough, had allowed her to pull him onto the bed and if she had noticed his tears as he had lowered to pillow his head in her lap, mindful of the soreness of her stomach, she had not commented on them. “I am sorry for... letting you think that I did not care.”

Maria Theresia, whose hand had since began to comb through his hair, had clicked her tongue. “I did not say that you did not care.” He had answered to her, but it had apparently been to low for her to have caught it so he had repeated what he had said. “It would have been my duty to protect you, after...”

 _The stillbirth of Maria Anna, Maria Elisabeth’s sudden death and the miscarriage that could have occured._ Franz Stephan had failed to bring those words over his tongue and had instead squeezed his eyes together as he had tried to focus on the gentle touch of Maria Theresia’s fingers. “I would have liked to be there for you, Theresia.”

She had hummed, “I do know that, but I thought that... if it would not have been a good result you would prefer to... not be present.”

It would have been a lie if he would have said that he would not have liked to be presence at the birth of his son, but he had understood as for why his beloved wife had decided to leave him in the dark. He never could have been angry with her, not when all that she had tried to do had been to protect him. With Joseph’s birth, the darkness had somewhat disappeared from their life. Maria Theresia still had refused to let any nursemaid take care of their son and Franz Stephan had not tried to get her to change her mind. Why should he have done it, it was known that only a mother could provide the best care for her child. While Joseph had stayed healthy and had grown stronger with each month, Franz Stephan had not managed to stop worrying - Maria Elisabeth had been three when she had died, no longer in nursery where the most children would pass.

If there had been anything that had torn his heart apart, it had been the way that many had seemed to believe that they had been _happy_ with having no child but their son. It had been during an evening in the salon that Beaumont, a French ambassador at their court, had stated, without any apparent tactfulness, that they should be greatful for having a son stand in the first place of their line of succession now then that their daughter had unfortunately passed on. Good God, how Maria Theresia had cried in his arms that night after they had excused themselves from their own festivities. What had they cared about succession. Their family had not been complete and as if it had been a presage, Franz Stephan had doubted that it would ever be. By the time that Joseph’s first Christmas had approached, the midwives had confirmed that Maria Theresia was expecting another child. It had happened sooner than either of them had expected and while they had both been delighted on one hand, they had been full of worry and dread on the other.

While Joseph had been born healthy after a pregnancy that, except for the stress bleeding, had gone by without any problems, neither he nor Maria Theresia had been able to live on with the same nonchalance as they had done it during her first two pregnancies. If Franz Stephan had known that it could, and eventually would, only get so much worse, he would have fallen onto his knees and thank God right there and then for the blessing he had send upon them - because on top of the worry that he had already carried around with him, Maria Theresia had fallen ill shortly after Joseph’s first birthday.

It had begun rather harmlessly, with her complaining about nausea and a headache, and had ended with not only the unborn child’s, but Maria Theresia’s life at risk as well. Within a few hours she had developed a fever that had been high enough to cause her to fall into a delirium, for her to speak nothing but incoherent words and for Jean Baptiste Bassand, their trusted court physician, to press his lips together into a worried thin line. Franz Stephan had rarely ever seen him so openly worried and by God, it had torn him apart. With Maria Theresia in sickbed and unable to come after her duties, it had fallen onto him, as coregent, to act in her name. Nobody had bothered to ask how he had been doing, nobody had seemingly noticed how much he had suffered under the circumstances. The prospect of losing his wife, his beloved Maria Theresia, had been an entirely different horror for him to be facing. As hard as it may have sounded, but if he would have been forced to chose between the lives of his wife or his unborn child, he would have chosen that of Maria Theresia without a second of hesitation.

Maria Theresia was not only the woman he was married to - no, she had been his second, his _better_ half and seeing her as white as the sheets she had been covered with had been an utterly devestating blow of fate. If Franz Stephan would not have already given in to the silent tears that were claiming their way down his face, he would have been crying by then. The constant fear of him losing his love, and of Joseph losing his mother had changed something inside of him that the death of his children had scratched at. If he were to lose his beloved wife, there would not have been a way for him to live on. While he had believed that he could not live on after it had began to really sunk in that Maria Elisabeth had died, there had been absolutely no doubt that if he would be forced to stand in front of Maria Theresia’s tomb and listen to a priest read her eulogy, he would die himself.

Franz Stephan still remembered, as clear as day, how he had spend hours sitting in the chair at the side his beloved wife’s bed and how many times he had done so with Joseph on his lap, simply because the young boy had not understood what had been going. His son’s cries for his mother had broken his heart, especially when Joseph had reached out for her with tiny, grabby hands but she had not reacted at all. The fever had raged in Maria Theresia’s body for four entire days until her temperature had slowly lowered to one that had no longer worried the court physician, though it had been when the fever had ebbed down that she had lost the child. It had been a gruesome sight, really, one that Franz Stephan had not forgotten to his day and once that he had been glad Maria Theresia had not been fully conscious to witness it.

If it would not have been for the midwife that had steadied him, he surely would not have been able to stay on his feet as he saw how Jean Baptiste Bassand had wrapped the tiny body into a cloth for it to be taken away. Good God, what a horrible sight it had been. The child, which had been named Karl Franz in an emergency baptism from the priest that had attended Maria Theresia’s sickbed, had barely been bigger than Franz Stephan’s outstretched hand. It had not cried when it had been born and neither had any of the midwives tried to help. They had all known that it had been doomed to die. Tears had stood in his eyes as he had watched how the premature baby had managed a few laboured breaths before it had died. _God, what did we do to deserve this. Three of out children in heaven, only one in our arms. God, what did we do that you are punishing us so._ No one present in the room had said a word as the tiny, lifeless bundle had been carried away and Maria Theresia’s councelor had been notified to arrange the funeral of the prince. _The third one in two years_.

It had been during the late evening hours of the fifth day that Maria Theresia had come back to her senses and Franz Stephan, albeit utterly exhausted an on the apparent edge of a breakdown himself, had stayed at her side to hold a cool cloth to her forehead while humming a low and ever-repeating tune. When she had stirred and groaned silently, his heart had nearly jumped out of his chest and he had stood from where he had been sitting in the chair to sit down on the mattress beside her. “Theresia? My love, can you hear me?” Her head had been tilted into his direction and while her chapped lips had moved, no comprehensible word had left her. Fear in its purest form had shot through Franz Stephan’s body; he had been very well aware of the damages that a high fever could leave behind but had tried to swallow around the lump in his throat as he had moved the cloth over her forehead. “Can you answer to me, my love?”

“Water.”

Her rasped out demand may had been the most beautiful thing he had ever heard and he had failed to suppress a sob as he had stood from the bed to fill a glass with water from the pitcher that had been placed onto the nightstand. “Allow me to lift your head,” he had whispered, slipping a hand underneath her head, “you will choke on the water if I will not do it.” Maria Theresia had not complained, though he had feared that she, even if she would have wanted to, would not have been able to. Holding the glass to her lips, which had been encrusted with blood, he had watched with a racing heart how she had drunk the majority of the water. He had rewarded her with a kiss onto her no longer as hot forehead after he had lowered her head back down onto the pillow. Maria Theresia had winced when she had opened her eyes and he had felt his heart plummeting when she had seemed to freeze completely.

While the physician had advised for her to not be told of the miscarriage right away, Franz Stephan had guessed that Bassand had already known that it would be inevitable. No one could have made her believe that there had still been a child in her when it, in fact, had been awaiting its funeral. Before he could have started explaining what had happened, Jean Baptiste Bassand had entered the room. “It is very good to see you awake, Your Majesty.”

Maria Theresia had weakly turned her head to look at Franz Stephan for a few short seconds, her gaze not yet fully focused. He had cringed when she had licked across her blood encrusted lips, obviously trying to wet them. “What happened,” she had directed at the physician, the words carried by her breath.

Bassand had come to stand at the foot of the bed and had bowed his head as he had held his hands behind his back. “I do not know what caused your illness, Your Majesty, and neither do I know as for why the fever spread so quickly...” The physician had thrown a look at him, so as if he wanted to make sure that it would be alright for him to speak on and Franz Stephan had nodded. He never would have managed to tell her.

“Did I lose the child?”

Bassand had closed his eyes for a moment, “Yes, Your Majesty. I am sorry.” He had closed his eyes and had turned his head away, thus missing how she herself had squeezed her eyes shut before she had turned over onto her side with a pained groan to burry her face into the pillow, her muffled sobs soon filling out the otherwise silent room.

Franz Stephan had dismissed the physician with a simple wave of his hand and had, once Bassand had been gone, opened the buttons of his waistcoat to lay down next to his composure-less wife, who had since began to rub her... _empty_ belly as if she had the hope of getting to feel their lost child for a last time. _God, what have we done_. “Shhh,” he had tried to soothe her as he had lowered onto the bed beside her, scooting forward until his chest had been flush against her back, “shhh it is alright, my love. I am here, shhh.” Wrapping one arm around her, he had continued to hold Maria Theresia as she had cried the pain, despair and grief off her heart.

“W-Wa-as it ba-aptized before it d-died?”, she had sobbed, barely turning her face out of the pillow and if Franz Stephan had been worried by the force of her cries, he had tried to not let it be noticable.

“Yes, my love, the priest was here when he was born. I chose the name Karl Franz for him.”

“It was a-a boy? Oh, what a failure I am!”

The shiver that had moved through him had been a cold one. “It was not your fault, Theresia.”

“It is,” his wife had merely sobbed, “it is.”

“No one is blaming you.”

“You-”

“I am not blaming you, do you understand?” He had shaken her gently as if he could convince her through it, “All that matters is that you did not die as well. Joseph, he does not understand. What should I have told him if you would have died, Theresia?”

“Joseph, where is he?”

While he should have known that her mind had not been as clear as it could have been with the remnants of the fever and the news she had just received, he had still been a bit perplexed. “In his nursery, my love. It is past his bedtime.” His brows had pulled together when she had heaved herself up onto an unsteady forearm, muttering something that he had not understood. “Theresia...” Her entire body had seemed to tremble which, considering the fact that he had laid flat for four days, had been anything but a surprise and his heart had somersaulted when it had become clear to him that she had wanted to get out of bed. The way that she had struggled to get into a seated position had broken something inside of him. “No, do not.”

“I have to see him,” she had breathed, trying to raise herself yet again. “I... need to see that he is-”

“Theresia, stop it!” His shout had resounded through the room and while he had rarely ever raised his voice, especially in front of her, it had the wished effect. Maria Theresia had indeed ceased on her third attempt, though Franz Stephan had not been certain whether or not it had been due to her lack of strength instead. “You will hurt yourself if you try to stand up,” he had went on with a much softer voice again. “Stay here, I will go and get him.”

“Please...”

 _What have we done to deserve this._ Leaning down to kiss the top of her head, he had squeezed his eyes shut to try and stop them from tearing up. It had been far from the life that he had imagined for them. Joseph had mewled when Franz Stephan had lifted him out of his bed a few moments later, since Maria Theresia had insisted that their son’s nursery must be put into the room next to hers. “I am sorry for waking you, my love, but Mama wants to see you.”

“Mama?”

He had smiled at his son’s tiny voice, _how he had loved that boy_ , and had kissed Joseph’s temple while running a hand over the boy’s back. “Yes, Mama.”

The door of Maria Theresia’s bedroom had creaked a bit as Franz Stephan had opened it and to his great relief, his wife had obeyed and had returned to rest on her stack of pillows. She had not said a word, had merely reached out his arms while silent tears had rolled down her face. “Mama,” Joseph had whimpered when he had been passed over to Maria Theresia, who had instantly closed her arms around him. “Mama.” Unsure what to do with himself, Franz Stephan had sat back down on his wife’s bedside and had watched how his son had nestled against his mother’s chest, his tiny chubby fists holding onto the fabric of her nightdress.

“I love you so much, my son. So much.” Maria Theresia’s tears had been silent ones as she had stroked the boy’s soft curls and Franz Stephan had swallowed hard, once more being reminded of how fragile their little bit of luck had been. That the bassinet beside Maria Theresia’s bed, which they had ordered for Joseph and had wanted to use for their future children, had stayed empty. If only he would have known back then that it would remain empty for years and years on end. Franz Stephan took a large gulp from his wine, despite the fact that he had since began to feel it in his head. The time after Maria Theresia’s sickness and Karl Franz’s death had changed their lives once and for all. Another hard blow of fate had been the way that her sickness had affected her fertility, and said change in her fertility had been followed by treatments that he never would have forced her to go through.

Since 1742 Maria Theresia had underwent countless of procedures that were ment to make her fertile again, though to Franz Stephan it seemed as if all they did were to make her even weaker - and he knew that she allowed the physicians to treat her with such methods because she blamed herself for the death of their children. His heart ached so terribly when he thought about how much she changed over the course of the last seven years and while Joseph provided some comfort to her, it was unmistakable that she was still grieving. It was noticable in the way that she cared for their only living child, almost overprotective when it came to Joseph. She as good as never let him out of her sight. Franz Stephan sighed and put his empty glass down onto the table in front of him where it joined the two empty pitchers. The clock striking half past three had ultimately pulled him back into the there and then. It had not been his plan to sit in his study for hours and get drunk, and it certainly had not been his desire to allow all those suppressed memories back to the surface. They hurt. And God, how badly they hurt.

He missed his children. Every single one of them, no matter if it had lived or not. Maria Elisabeth would have turned twelve this year, Maria Anna eleven and Franz Karl would have been seven. Franz Stephan closed his eyes as he drew in a deep breath through his nose, sending a silent prayer to his lost children, _Maria Elisabeth, Maria Anna, Franz Karl_ , and just as much as he missed his children, he missed the woman he loved. The real tragedy about it all had, all in all, been the way that Maria Theresia had been broken by it. He stood from his chair rather abruptly, swaying on his feet and forced to hold onto the table to steady himself. He was drunk, and the fact that he was made him pull a grimace. Court protocol would demand him to get up at six, which meant that he would have less than four hours of sleep left before it would be time for him to return to his duties. What a life. He tried to steady his gate as he crossed his study, opened the door and peaked outside.

The corridor was as empty as he had expected it to be and Franz Stephan tried not to think of the pain in his heart as he staggered rather than walked to the part of Schönbrunn palace that housed his bedroom. They no longer shared one after Franz Karl’s death - it was Maria Theresia’s decision, not his.

He stopped by her door, considering, for a moment, to wake her up, though decided against it with a snort and a very drunk shake of his head that stood in a stark contrast to the tears that were blurring his vision. God, how he loved that woman and in his hazed mind, he was nearly overwhelmed by the fear of losing her. She had already distanced herself so greatly from him. The door of his private apartment fell shut behind him, louder than he had wanted it to, and he only did so much as shrug off his jacket and waistcoat and kick off his shoes before he crawled into bed and pressed his face into the feathery softness of his pillow. He did not believe in miracles, he never had, though he still prayed for God to send them one. 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About a year ago (09.12.18) I picked up writing again, after a year-long hiatus and having deleted my old account on AO3, with [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898241) story and I just wanted to take a moment to thank you! I got to know so many kind people ever since I decided to upload my writing and I'm so, so grateful for anyone who's reading and leaving comments & kudos! Thank you! <3
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**August 1749**

****

When Franz Stephan woke the following morning, he was certain that he had closed his eyes ten minutes prior to the mirror reflecting the light of the early morning sun onto his face. He could not remember when he had last had suffered from a prior evening’s wine so greatly and neither could he remember that he had ever regretted drinking as much as he did in the very second that the brightness of the light woke him. Groaning from the throbbing harbinger of the wine-induced pain in his temples, Franz Stephan rolled over onto his stomach to hide his face in his pillow. Last night had drained him in more than one way. While he then knew that he was too old to indulge in wine like he had done it in his younger years, it was the fact that he had so obviously failed to keep the memories of his past suppressed behind the façade that he had put up with the desire to keep it upright for the remainder of his life. As ridiculous as it may seem, he had not expected for it to hurt as much. He had thought that time would eventually heal the wounds in his heart which had been torn into it by the loss of his children and the changes they had brought to his relationship with Maria Theresia, had been certain that he had long dealt with the grief. Oh, how wrong he had been on both accords. He had anything but dealt with it.

Franz Stephan had just let out a shuddering breath when someone had knocked at his door a second before opening it and multiple pairs of feet came hurrying into the room. “Good morning Sire,” Wilhelm, his most trustworthy valet, greeted him with his uplifting-as-always voice, “Her Majesty is awaiting you for breakfast, Sire.”

His stomach churned from the prospect of food alone and he did not bother to sit up as he gave his answer. “Tell her that I have fallen ill.”

The sound of feet moving over the wooden floor ceased down. “Shall I notify the physician, Sire?”

“No,” he swallowed, “I will be just fine if I am able to spend a day in peace.”

Albeit Franz Stephan was not looking into the direction of the valet, he knew that Wilhelm was looking at him. Could he have blamed him? No. Did he wish that they would all just _leave him alone_? More than anything. He needed to be alone, there was no way that he could allow himself to lose his mask in front of his entourage. The valet and the chambermaids, which had both been ready to start with their duties, were gone within a few moments and Franz Stephan found himself on the verge of tears out of the sudden. He could not believe that he had allowed those memories to reclaim him again.

 _Maria Elisabeth, Maria Anna, Franz Karl. Joseph._ There were four children to his name out of which he was able to hold only one in his arms. He had tried not to think too much about it, had tried, and in part succeeded, to ignore the fact that it were his children’s small bronze sarcophagi that had been interred into the room of the imperial crypt in which he and Maria Theresia had been supposted to be laid to rest, not their innocent children. Franz Stephan never would have imagined that he would, some day, needed to visit the crypt in order to be close to his children. It was anything but fair, anything but what they deserved and it had hit him bad enough that his fate in God had suffered. Was it despotism, or was it punishment? He did not know but in a way, he no longer bothered to beg God to answer in his nightly prayers. What did it matter, his children would continue to stay dead even if he would be given an answer.

It had not taken him long to fall into a restless sleep that had been filled with a dream that he could not decipher and when he startled awake, it was not only due to the knock on the door and this time he did sit up with a groan, swinging his legs over the edge and running a hand over his face in a tired motion before he granted access to whoever it was that had decided to disturb him. The door was opened rather slowly, and Franz Stephan felt a tightness in his chest when he saw the small children’s hands that were stammed against the heavy door in order to open it. “Papa?” At the sight of his young son he did not even need to force himself to a smile, even if he happened to be crying on the inside. Joseph looked at him with wide eyes and Franz Stephan had reached out his hand towards him, showing that it was alright for the boy to come to him. Joseph did not need to be told twice, and a grin spread out on his face as he ran across the room to jump into the embrace his father offered to him. _That boy really was his only source of solace for the loss he had suffered from_ , Franz Stephan thought as he stroked his son’s dark blond curls. “Mama said that you are sick,” Joseph said, wriggling out of his father’s embrace enough to be able to look up at him with, once more, wide eyes. “Are you going to die, Papa?”

Good God, how cold the shiver was that flashed up Franz Stephan’s spine. An eight-year-old child was not supposed to have thoughts of such nature but considering everything that had happened, he should have known that it would have been inevitable for his son to not have heard his parents or teachers thought about death, a topic that seemed to haunt his family like no other. It nearly robbed him of his breath when he saw how there were tears swimming in front of the blue of his son’s eyes. As much as he knew that it was impossible to hide for him and Maria Theresia to hide their grief from their son he knew that Joseph, who was a very sensitive, introverted child, could easily understand it in a wrong way. _“Are you going to die, Papa?”_ Oh, how his heart ached for the boy. A child must never worry about a parent of his dying, especially not his child. He took Joseph’s face into his hands and stroked his son’s cheeks, that were still a bit rounded with the chubbiness of a young child. “No, my love, I am not going to die. I promise that I will not.”

“Promise?”

“It is a promise, my son. Do not worry.” Joseph made a small humming sound as Franz Stephan kissed him onto his forehead. “I have a headache, that is all. I will be fine,” he whispered and pulled his son closer to him to sit him down on his lap, and the young boy nodded as he leaned against his father’s chest. “Does your mother know that you came to see me?”

“Uh...”

“Joseph.” Franz Stephan’s voice hardened a bit, though he would have needed to admit to himself that he never could have been as stern with his son as he should have been. Joseph was his only surviving child, after all, and he never could have had the heart to be as strict with him as many expected him to be. Not that his son was an exceptionally naughty child; Joseph had times where he was so quiet that he often wondered what kind of soul was living inside of him. “You are not supposed to run away from your mother. What if she is looking for you as we speak?”

“I didn’t run away,” the boy answered with a huff and a shake of his head, so as if he was honestly offended by his father’s accusation. “I finished breakfast and-and then wanted to see you, Papa.”

 _How much he loved that child._ Franz Stephan chuckled, but could not hide a wince when it caused the pain in his head to tenfold. He was definitely too old for drinking like a young man. “Is that so, hm?”

The boy on his lap nodded hard enough for his curls to bounce a bit, “It is! I promise!”

“Alright then,” Franz Stephan said with another chuckle, despite the fact that his head was anything but grateful about it. If he would act as badly as he felt, his sensible son would surely think that there was something seriously wrong with him. He kissed the top of Joseph’s head before he set him back down onto his feet and send him towards the door with a playful swat onto his backside. “Be good and listen to your teacher.”

His son squealed and giggled, both hands covering his backside, “Yes Papa.”

“I love you, son.”

“I love you too!” The door fell shut and Joseph was gone again.

Franz Stephan continued to sit on the edge of his bed for a while longer, every now and then running a hand over his face in a tired motion. He was torn between getting up and lying back down, for he was anything but at the height of his strength and he feared that the memories would come back to haunt him if he would retreat to his study, and thus eventually decided to go for a walk on the vast grounds that Schönbrunn had to offer. Dressing himself without seeking the help of either of his valets, he pulled a grimace as he inspected the dark shadows underneath his eyes in the mirror of his bedroom. He did look sick, even though he felt fine except for his nagging headache and the heartbreaking memories of his lost children that were threathening to suffocate him from the inside. God, how much he missed them all. Franz Stephan sighed and closed the last button of his waist coat, considering whether he should visit them again.

It had been some time since he had last went - Maria Theresia visited them every Sunday, would sometimes sit on a stool in front of their children’s sarcophagi for more than an hour, her head bowed in silent worship and her face hidden behind her hands. That she would shed silent tears over their death was anything but a secret, even if neither he nor his wife spoke about it. He knew, and she was aware of the fact that he knew. With one last, almost self-pitying look into the mirror he had turned sharply to leave, hoping that the fresh summer air would help to ease his complicated situation somewhat. His hope was disappointed the very second that Franz Stephan stepped out onto the courtyard and into the bright light. He winced, from the brightness as well as from the sound of the daily hustling and bustling of court life going on around him and if he happened to draw attention to him due to the way that he shielded his eyes from the sun, he could not have cared less about it.

Tightening the hold he had on the handle of his cane he set into motion, taking a turn to the right to walk into the direction of the park. He knew this place ever since he had been a child and while it usually was amazing to see the changed that had occured since then, especially in the garden and the menagerie, but today it only caused him further heartache. So much had changed, but only little of it had been for the good. What he would give to have _the old_ Maria Theresia back at his side. Not that he loved her any less, no, she was still the only woman that he carried in his heart but it was utterly painful to see her so heavily affected by grief, self-hatred and despair. It had not only been him that had wished for a large family, for an entire flock of children that would fill their apartments and hearts alike. But God, as it seemed, had other plans for them.

The silence became even more obvious when they would stay in Schönbrunn during the summer months, for Maria Theresia had initiated the expansion of the palace only for the many rooms to remain empty. There was nothing but silence in them, silence which they had both imagined to be filled with children’s laughter and the sound of two dozen pairs of feet resounding through the long corridors of their summer residence. No, they had been refused their own little heaven and had instead been put directly into hell. It probably would not have been so bad if Maria Theresia would confront him, would scream and cry and even argue with him about it, but for Franz Stephan to be able to do nothing more than to, literally and figuratively speaking, stand by and watch how his beloved wife tortured and destroy herself with medical procedures of very dubious nature and her own grief was worse than anything that he ever could have imagined. In a way, he had not only lost his children all those years ago, but Maria Theresia as well.

He came to a halt just in front of the gate that he would pass through in order to enter the royal gardens, suddenly feeling rather aversed to go for a walk and he thought about it for no longer than a few seconds before he turned and marched right back to the palace. The first valet looked quite surprised when Franz Stephan came to seek him and he stood from where he had been writing behind his writing desk, bowing his head. “Sire.”

“Is a coachman present?”

“There is, Sire. But did you not say that you have fallen ill, Sire?”

Oh, the headache was still annoyingly present. “I am still far from recovered, Wilhelm. Lying in bed the entire day however is not a thing that I can do.”

“’Tis what I am aware of, Sire.”

Franz Stephan nodded, “Notify the coachman, I want a carriage to be ready as soon as it is possible.”

“Where to, Sire?”

“The Kapuzinergruft.”

The valet nodded slowly, aware, of course, what the driving force behind his order was. “I will do so right away, Sire.”

Franz Stephan’s hand had already came to rest on the handle of the door when he turned towards his first valet one more time, “And Wilhelm.”

“Yes Sire.”

“If my wife should ask about my whereabouts,” he had let out a sound that could have been described as a sigh, “do tell her that I am in bed and do not wish to be disturbed.”

“Of course, Sire.”

“Good.”

To his great pleasure, the carriage drove up in front of him on the courtyard not ten minutes later and after one of the accompanying guards had opened the door for him, Franz Stephan had hurried to board it. That his depature would not go unnoticed had been as clear as the bright blue sky, but he would minimize the risk of rumors and chatters breaking out by leaving as quickly as he only could. Especially since he guessed that the news about his apparent unwellbeing had already reached the courtiers. He was on edge during the entire ride to the city, which would thankfully not take longer than half an hour, clenching his hands around the handle of his cane while staring at the carriage’s gilded wall opposite of where he was seated. It was not the pain in his head and the light nausea that tortured him, but the throbbing in his chest which reminded him of what had unexpectedly taken place the evening before. The tidal wave of memories that had swept over him had been immense and uttermost unexpected, for he had been certain that he had either forgotten or suppressed all those moments well enough.

Feeling weak and exposed to his grief was not something that Franz Stephan could easily admit; he was known for being the calm counterpart of Europe’s First Lady, as the man who lived a peaceful live in Maria Theresia’s shadow and to be faced with the sobering truth that the loss of his children had left a _festering_ instead of a healed-over wound behind was enough to throw him into a rather helpless situation. He did not know what do to, what to say or how to act - but he knew, deep down, that it was no longer possible for him to pretend that he was not suffering as well. “We have arrived at the Kapuzinerkloster, Your Majesty,” one of the guards announced as he stepped forward to open the door of the carriage for Franz Stephan to step out onto the courtyard of the monastery which, thankfully, was hidden from the public eye behind a large gate. Being forced to put up a mask and act as the emperor that he was would have been something that he had feared he would have failed, and only God knew what consequences his failure could have for him, his family and his empire.

He was greeted by the abbot and the keykeeper of the crypt, but Franz Stephan retorted to the greeting with a mere nod of his head; the lump in his throat was big enough that he feared his voice would give out if he would try to use it and so he followed after them in silence. He never liked to come there. The cold that hit him when the door of the crypt was unlocked for him to enter was not a new one, but yet he shivered as if he had been surprised by it. It reminded him of death itself. He was soon left alone, with only the pair of guards standing on their posts on each side of the crypt’s entrance, and so Franz Stephan could stand on the head of the stairs for a few short moments before he took the first step down into the dimly lit rooms.

No matter how many times he would enter it, the utter silence that dominated the barrel vaults of the rooms that housed Maria Theresia’s ancestors... and three of their children. He unwittingly closed his eyes while he walked, his steps resounding off the walls as he moved past rows of dusted sarcophagi en route for the room in the back of the crypt. Their room, as macabre as it sounded. There they stood, the three little coffins, at the wall to the left, a banquet of flowers in front of each one. Franz Stephan knew that Maria Theresia had visited them the day before. She always left them flowers, sometimes even letters. The grief that he had confined to the silence of his mind, his wife wore it on her sleeve. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly as he took a few last steps to come to stand in front of the three sarcophagi that held the remains of his children. It was a thought that made him sick to his stomach, and yet one that he could not stop thinking about. His heart ached when he ran the tips of his fingers over the engraved letters on the lid of the largest sarcophagus that stood flanked by the two smaller ones.

It broke out of him. On any other day Franz Stephan would have definitely been able to control himself, or so he told himself at least. Still so upset by the event’s of the past night, by all the memories that had broken free from the cage that he had confined them to he was not able to keep himself from giving in to his his tears. Good God, how he missed his children, especially his oldest daughter. Maria Elisabeth had been such a precious little girl, so full of love and life and once Franz Stephan realised that he had indeed not held her for _nine years_ , his composure was as good as gone. There had been many painful blows of fate in his life. When his older brother Leopold had died from the smallpox, it had been am utterly painful stroke of fate for Franz Stephan that he, as a young boy, never would have expected. It had hurt when his father had died, when he had gotten a letter from his sister that stated that their mother had passed away after a long illness and it would have been a lie if he would have said that it had not been painful when Karl, who had been a father figure to him, had died. All of these death had been painful, Franz Stephan would not have lied about it if he would have been asked. But in a way, be it Leopold, his parents or Karl... they had all been granted a chance to live.

Sure, Leopold’s death had come way too soon. His brother had only been sixteen when he had succumbed to the ruthless illness, and yet no death had been as painful as those of Franz Stephan’s three children. Leopold had at least been granted a chance to live for more than fifteen years. No other loss came close to the amount of grief he felt when he thought about what could have been if God would not have been so cruel as to take his children long before their time, to tear them out of his and Maria Theresia’s arms. So he stood there, in front of his children’s coffins, heavily leaned onto his cane and shielding his eyes with his free hand while he cried out the pain that acted its revenge for having been repressed for such a long time. He knew that crying could and would not bring his children back, that his strained relationship with Maria Theresia would not improve if he would not take it upon himself to make the first step. His wife had since lost himself in her grief and while he had believed that he stood above it, the wine-induced tidal wave of memories had proven him wrong. What did he do to deserve it all?

Franz Stephan did not know for how long he stood in front of the small coffins or for how long his sobs had resounded throught the otherwise lifeless crypt, and he could not have cared less if his cries were audible on the outside. God knew that he no longer cared about something so insignificant. It all was so utterly insignificant compared to the pain that had torn his family apart. His headache had reached an entirely new level by the time that his sobs did cease down and if he happened to sway a bit on his feet, he decided to ignore it. _My children, what would I give to have you all in my arms instead._

He turned around rather abruptly, so as if the spell that had bound him to the sight of his children’s sarcophagi had been lifted, and strode back towards the stairs, ensuring that at least the wetness on his face was wiped off with his handerchief. That his eyes were puffy and reddened, Franz Stephan would try to play off. “We shall go back to Schönbrunn,” he rasped out as he reached the top of the stairs and the pair of guards, which were instantly on their feet from where they had been sitting on a wooden bench, bowed and lead the way to the courtyard. His heart somewhat calmed as he sat down on his seat in the carriage and laid his cane down beside him, thus having both hands free to run them over his face. He had not expected such outburst, but his heart did feel a bit less heavy and he had the sudden longing to be held by his wife, to feel Maria Theresia’s fingers in his hair like he had felt it so many times before.

 _Before_. Before it was grief that took over their life, before Maria Theresia had decided to allow herself to be an experience for the physicians in order to increase her fertility.

The treatments had not worked, none had. All they had done had been to torture his wife even further than she had already been by her grief. The carriage set into motion and Franz Stephan, after ensuring that the curtains were pulled close, leaned back with closed eyes, breathing in deeply and slowly exhaling through his nose. While the weather was still as good as it could have been, he decided that it would be most likely be the best if he would return to bed as soon as he would be back in Schönbrunn. He did not know whether or not he could otherwise live through the day or not. Midday had already passed when the carriage came to stand in the courtyard of the palace of Schönbrunn, and Franz Stephan did not waste any time to return to his private apartment. It seemed as if there were more people than usually husting and bustling about, more noblewomen chattering behind their raised fans and more servants making their way to complete their duties.

He greeted a few of them with simple nods of his head as he moved through the palace, making sure that he would not let any of his immense grief slip past his crumbling façade - it felt as if it was crumbling, at least, and he feared than anyone might be able to see past the cracks. Feeling so _vulnerable_ was not something that Franz Stephan was used to and God, it scared him. He went en route for his rooms, hurried to get out of his clothes and let out a shaky sigh when he crawled back underneath the thin summer covers. The windows had been opened by the chambermaid, the warm breeze that came flowing in caused the floor-length curtains to billow softly and Franz Stephan found himself drawn to the sight as his vision slowly began to blurry. He could not remember when he had last felt so miserable, both in body as in mind, and he closed his eyes as the first tears left them, turning his face into the pillow.

There was no possible way for him to tell how much time he had spend in bed, slipping in and out of exhausted and rather short naps, but he guesses that he had missed lunch as well as he eventually raised to sit on the edge of his bed, running his hands through his hair and over his face. Good God, he was done for the day but while his nausea yet had to fully disappear, the grumbling of his stomach spoke of hunger instead of a warning harbinger for inevitable vomiting. Sighing, he stood and reached for his morning robe, fastened the satin belt around his waist before he crossed the room to leave his bedroom for the antechamber in search for his valet. Wilhelm, as dutifully as he was, had been waiting for him by the entrance door of his apartment. If the valet had spotted the redness of his eyes, he must have decided to not mention it.

“Sire.” Franz Stephan nodded vaguely into his direction. “How are you feeling, Sire?”

“Better,” he answered and if it came to his headache, it had not even been a lie. “Albeit a bit hungry I must say.”

“Shall I arrange for something to be brought, Sire?”

“Please do so, Wilhelm.”

“Of course, Sire.”

“No wine.”

“Pardon, Sire?”

He made a waving gesture with his hand, knowing that it was a very unusual thing for him to say. “No wine. Coffee or tea, but no wine.”

His valet blinked a few times in confusion, and if it would have been a different occasion, he would have laughed about it. “Of... course, Sire. No wine.”

“Thank you.” The first valet hurried off and Franz Stephan continued to stand on the spot for a bit longer before he cleared his throat, shook his head and trudged back into his bedroom. He missed the time when he and Maria Theresia had not lived in different apartments, missed the time when they had still been close at any possible moment. While he loved her will all his heart, he had no idea whether or not she felt the same and God, it was in the process of tearing him apart. He doubted that he would be ever to live on if all that would bound them together would be the marriage settlement and the grief of their lost children, and felt physically aversed by the prospect of taking another woman to fulfill his needs. There could not be another woman that he could ever want as much as he still wanted his wife, his beloved Maria Theresia that he had lost his heart to all those years ago. He would go and talk to her before the day would be over, he decided as he awaited the valet’s return - for which he was not doomed to wait for long.

A tray of baked treats, sweet as well as savory, and a pot of coffee were put down onto the small writing desk of his bedroom but Franz Stephan only bothered to stand up after he had dismissed Wilhelm again. He was not necessarily hungry, though forced himself to eat one of the treats and to drink one cup of the bitter, steaming liquid before he abandoned the scarce meal. If he were to eat one more bite, his stomach would surely turn over. “You are old,” Franz Stephan said to himself with a chuckle, though it lacked any honest humor. He would have liked to seek the presence of his wife right away, but he knew that his chances were slim. Ever since Maria Theresia’s sickness and the death of their prematurely-born son, she had buried herself in her work, only ever making time for Joseph. The meals that they would share were the few occasions where the married couple spend more than a few moments together. Franz Stephan did not know when it had began, when it had became a normality that the only they would share a bed would be when they would try to fulfill their hopeless desire or having another child.

If someone would have told him, a decade ago, that this was how their future looked, Franz Stephan would have laughed at them. He never would have believed it, and in a way, it was that fact which made it all the harder for him to fathom. Good God, what have they become. Their time in bed together could only be described as anything but lovemaking. There were no whispered words of love and admiration, no soft touches and once he would release himself, his presence would no longer be desired and while he knew, and hoped, that Maria Theresia did not seek his presence because she no longer desired him, but because she could not bear it. She felt guilty for the loss of their children, took the blame for it onto her own shoulders no matter how many times Franz Stephan would tell her that she was the least of all to blame. He swallowed down his uncomfortably tight throat as he opened a drawer of his nightstand to retrieve the book that he had been reading, and swallowed again as he pushed the drawer close. _What have they done to deserve all of this_.

Choosing the rocking chair instead of his bed to sit on, Franz Stephan opened the book and tried to submit himself entirely to the listing of the different kinds of minerals, which was highly interesting to him, but failed miserably to do so. His mind simply refused to allow himself to concentrate on the written words in front of him, denied him the opportunity to spend a few minutes without his thoughts circling around his children, both dead or alive, and Maria Theresia. Thick-headed as he could be, Franz Stephan did not give in so easily. He tried to get to get the chapter he was on to a finish by telling himself that reading it would enable him to expand his collection even further, but it was to no avail. It was after he read the same page not twice nor thrice, but began to read the sentence at the top of the page for a fifth time that he closed the book rather forcefully and just barely hindered himself from throwing it across the room. If only he would have done without that second pitcher of wine, he thought with quite the bitter snarl, albeit knowing that it merely would have been a matter of time before it would have broken out - and God knew at what occasion it could have happened. Franz Stephan raised onto his feet with a sigh, put the book back into the drawer of the nightstand and called for a servant to bring him a fresh set of attire.

Half an hour later and he was dressed, freshly parfumed and powdered and as ready as he only could have been to attend court life on that day. But instead of leaving his apartment for the salon, Franz Stephan decided to look after Joseph first. He found his son playing with his little toy figurines in the children’s playroom and tried not to think about how much he yearned to see it being used by more than just one child as he leaned against the frame of the door, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth while he watched Joseph. The boy was so engrossed in his game that he had not heard the door being opened and went on to move the wooden figures over the floor, making tiny and incredibly endearing sounds as he followed whatever plot he had build in his head. Oh, how he loved that child. Joseph did well in his studies, earning himself nothing but praise from his teachers, and was an utterly easy child. Rather on the quiet side with a strong interest for books, his son reminded Franz Stephan so much of himself that it baffled him sometimes.

He watched the boy for a few quiet moments before he cleared his throat, thus drawing his son’s attention onto him. “Papa!” His smile widened when Joseph squealed and instantly abandoned his game to hurried to jump into his spread arms.

“How are you, my love,” Franz Stephan asked his son, leaning down to press a kiss into the boy’s soft curls.

“Are you no longer sick, Papa?”

His son looked up at him with those wide, innocent blue eyes and it would have been a lie if he would have said that the look did not directly went into his heart. “I do feel much better,” he said, taking Joseph’s face into his hands to stroke his cheeks, “thank you for asking.” The boy nodded but by the way that he was nursing his bottom lip between his teeth, Franz Stephan was easily able to tell that his son’s worry yet had to be extinguished. It was of no surprise to him, considering how sensitive Joseph was. “I promise, my love.”

“You-You will not die?”

He forced himself to sigh in silence and tipped the boy’s head a bit further back to kiss his forehead before he spoke. “I will not die anytime soon, my son. But if you do not stop to torture yourself so I will be quite sorely displeased. Do you understand?” Joseph nodded, and Franz Stephan rewarded him with another kiss onto his forehead before he let go of his face. “Now, I do not want to keep you from your game any longer.” He left his son to his wooden toy figures and a look at his pocket watch told him that it should be possible for him to speak to his wife. Maria Theresia would retreat to her private apartments at six, in no more than twenty minutes. Franz Stephan decided to take a short detour to the salon, not because he was particularly interested to find out what new rumours were being told or to be beguiled by noblewomen whose entire goal seemed to be to find a way into his bed, but to show presence.

The salon was packed when he entered it, music and laughter filling the air. Half a dozen of nobles were sitting at the large round gaming table, surrounded by a crowd that commented their decisions with laughter or gasping. The chatters and laughters died down when he entered, and Franz Stephan made sure to keep his back straightened as he moved further into the room where he was greeted with more or less respectfully bowed heads and whispers of “Your Majesty.” He felt the temptation to take the glass of sparkling wine that was offered to him by a servant, but dismissed it with a gesture of his hand after he felt his stomach churn from the prospect alone and instead retreated to the far back of the room. It did not take more than a few moments before his first valet came to stand beside him. “Sire.”

“Wilhelm.”

The valet was roaming his eyes over the crowd visitors as if he expected an attack at any give time. Precaution, of course. “I am happy to see you out of bed, Sire.”

Franz Stephan cleared his throat, “It seems that it was no more than a headache.”

“That is pleasant to hear, Sire.”

“Do you know if my wife is still working?”

Wilhelm turned his head to look at him instead, “Her Majesty has retreated to her rooms a while ago, Sire.”

“What? When?”

The valet checked his pocket watch, “An hour ago I would say, Sire. It could not have been much longer than that.”

Franz Stephan clenched and unclenched his jaw, answered with a mere nod of his head and did not waste any more time in the salon before leaving en route for Maria Theresia’s private apartments. He had no idea if his attempt of reconciliation would be successful and it would have been a blatant lie if he would have claimed that he was not terrified of the consequences that a failure on his side could bring. Holding his hands behind his back he hurried up the main staircase, barely perceiving the greetings he received left and right. Good God, he was so worried. If Maria Theresia had since decided that she no longer required to have him close, that her titles and maybe even her grief were more important than her husband, there would be nothing that Franz Stephan could do. The guards that stood on their posts at each side of the door that lead to Maria Theresia’s rooms told him that they would need a permission before they could allow him to answer, and he tried not to let his dread be shown as one of the guards disappeared into the antechamber, obviously requesting said permission and it it would not have been such a serious situation for him, Franz Stephan would have snorted a laugh. Him having to ask for permission to be allowed to see Maria Theresia, he never would have imagined that.

While the guard reappeared after a few seconds, really, those seconds had been torturing for him. “Your Majesty.” Franz Stephan blinked hard when he was pulled from his thoughts by the guard addressing him, and he set into motion once he realised that the door was being held open for him to walk through it. The first thing he noticed, before the door had even been closed behind him, had been the strange smell. It was bad enough to make him grimace, so heavy that it seemed to put itself onto his clothes and once he had moved further into the room, he knew where it was coming from.

Through the opened double-winged door that separated the antechamber from Maria Theresia’s bedroom, Franz Stephan saw that a bathing tub had been placed in the middle of the bedroom - and there in the tub, Maria Theresia was resting. She was half sitting, half lying in a way that enabled him to see no more than the back of her head and her unbound hair that hung loosely over the edge of the tub. It made sense then, the sickening smell. He knew that his wife had since begun to see a herbalist, with the hope that it would make her fertile again, and while Gerard van Swieten had exclaimed that he did not believe it to be wise, Maria Theresia had not listened to the physician whose orders she usually followed without hesitation. Everyone in the circle around her knew how desperately she wanted to have another child.

Unsure what to do with himself, Franz Stephan came to stand on the swell of the double-winged door that had been opened to allow the circulation of air, held his hands behind his back and stared at Maria Theresia as if he could thus move her to turn around. But she, too, had not spoken, had made small movements that caused the water to splash softly. While he could not see her face, he knew that she was miserable. In more than one way. “Theresia...”

“What do you want.”

The brusqueness with which his first attempt of beginning a conversation was cut down did not exactly leave him with high hopes for the remainder of their... encounter. “I wish to talk to you,” he said after a few moments of hesitation and when she snorted, obviously in disdain, Franz Stephan left his spot on the swell of the door to move in front of the bathtub in order to look her in the face. He swallowed as he caught the first sight of her, oh God, she was miserable. The way that Maria Theresia was slumped in the tub could have make someone believe that she was no longer among the living and Franz Stephan had noticed, within an instant, really, that she must had been crying shortly before he came to see her. “I said that I wish to talk to you,” he stated with a voice that was anything but steady and not as snapping as he may have intended it to be, and when no apparent reaction came from his wife, his chest clenched painfully. “The situation between us cannot go on like it is now.”

It were only those words that managed to pull Maria Theresia’s attention onto him, though when her tired, tear-filled eyes came to rest on him, he somehow wished that they would not have done so. “Oh so it cannot?” Her voice was dripping with disdain - but Franz Stephan knew that it was an act of self-protection rather than any hard feelings on her side. _God, what have we done._ “What is it that gave you the idea?” With those snarled words Maria Theresia suddenly stood, her hands clinging onto the edge of the wooden tub as she climbed out with legs so unsteady that Franz Stephan feared for her to lose her footing. He could only wonder whether a bath in hot water, which colored her skin a soft pink, and with those herbs did more harm than heeling or not.

With the tension between them he should not have looked at her in the way that he did it as she dried herself off with a towel before slipping a satin robe on, but he could not help himself. Maria Theresia was still so beautiful, and he still loved her with all of his heart. His heart was racing so fast that he was able to feel it beating in his throat when he, a bit frozen to the spot, watched how Maria Theresia moved across the room to retrieve something from a small side table. The painting that hung on the wall over the table was sobering. It was the portrait of their small family that had been done just a few weeks ago. It were just him, Maria Theresia and young Joseph, who was holding his mother’s hand, that were depicted in the painting and to Franz Stephan it almost seemed like some kind of mockery that it had been hung onto a wall of Maria Theresia’s bedroom when it was her who suffered the most under the circumstances. The dark shroud of grief had laid itself over them, had caused them to drift apart and Franz Stephan believe that it was on him to stop it. Maria Theresia would never be able to do so, the woman he loved had since lost herself in her self-hatred, heartbreaking grief.

Franz Stephan opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his tongue when he saw just what Maria Theresia had gotten from the table. He knew what it was. He had seen his mother take it for years on end and while he was aware of his mouth hanging open as he watched her, he could not have bothered to close it. She did not pay him any attention as she unscrewed the small bottle and began to pour its content into a glass, a sight that made Franz Stephan sick to his stomach. “Theresia...” His words went by unnoticed and his heart plummeted even further when he was forced to watch how Maria Theresia raised the glass to her lips to take the first swallow; he could see how much she had to fight herself to swallow the liquid and not spit it right back out. “Theresia,” he repeated, his voice having gained a bit more ground, and he took an almost hesitating step into her direction, reaching out with an unsteady hand while she forced herself to drink again. Franz Stephan could not, _would not_ accept for the woman he loved to fall back onto such treatments - he had witnessed how they had ruined his mother.

It was when Maria Theresia raised the glass for the third time that his hand snapped forward and grasped her by the wrist, thus hindering her from taking another sip. A strange shadow laid itself over Maria Theresia’s eyes as he turned her head to look at him after having ignored him for the last minute or so and she tried to free her wrist, but failed. Franz Stephan did not loosen the hold he had on her arm and his heart sped up even further when he stepped closer to her. He was able to feel how she was trembling but tried not to look at the tears that were shining in her eyes; he would not be able to speak if he would take them in. “You ought to stop,” he spoke with a voice that was barely lifted above a whisper, swallowing hard. “

Why?” Maria Theresia did meet his gaze and while he guessed that she had meant to look at him with disdain, he saw nothing but grief and despair behind the blue of her eyes. “Why should I?”

A bit taken aback by her question, Franz Stephan let go of his wife’s wrist. She could not mean it, could she? No, he knew that she was not so gullible as to not be aware of the consequences that such medication was accompanied by and inexplicably so, his helplessness turned into short-lived anger when Maria Theresia tried to drink from the glass yet again. “Because I cannot bear to see you suffer so much,” Franz Stephan barked, making her flinch when he roughly snatched the glass from her hand, “do you not understand that?” He threw the glass onto the ground behind him, where it bursted into shards on the wooden floor. “Can you not see that it hurts me? Can you not!?” He had not meant for his voice to grow so loud, it seemed to resound through the room even after he fell silent and he swallowed around the lump in his throat when Maria Theresia cocked her chin up as if she wanted to show him that she was untouched by what he had said. The fact that a tear had escaped out of a corner of her eye and was making its way down her face, however, did not really support her intention. Franz Stephan took a step forward, that time reaching out with a placatory hand. “Theresia...”

He moved to put his hand onto Maria Theresia’s shoulder, but his wife ducked away from his touch. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out, Stephan. I will not tell you again.”

It was not only the fact that she was snarling at him, but that she had called him _Stephan_. He could count the times that she had called him Stephan on the fingers of one hand. “Theresia!”

“Get out, get out!”

Even from the distance he was able to see that she was downright trembling on her feet by then, her fists clenched at her sides, and he swallowed hard, trying to appease her by holding his hands in front of his chest. “My love-” He managed to duck away from the bottle that was thrown at him by no more than a hair's breadth.

“Get out! Get out and - and better yet, go visit that _Madame von Auersperg_ that you have grown so fond of!” This was exactly what he had feared would happen, for Maria Theresia to think such things of him. _What have they done to deserve this._ Utterly dumbstruck by the accusation, Franz Stephan openly gaped at her.

“What?” Maria Theresia did not answer, merely shook her head and turned away from him. If there would not have been blood rushing through his ears so audibly in that moment, he would have heard the small sob that escaped her. “ _What_ did you say?”

A few seconds of silence passed before she did whirl back around, pointing an accusing finger at him and Franz Stephan felt worry stab at his heart when the tremble of her body only got stronger. “Everyone is talking about it so _do not_ try to belittle me by lying!”

“Everyone is talking about _what?_ ” Both of their voices were growing louder and while it was not their nature of argueing, he knew that it was inevitable. “Be so grateful as to enlighten me, would you?”

Maria Theresia set on for what had most likely been supposed to be yet another called-out snarl, but in a breathtaking turn of events, Franz Stephan was able to see all of the anger leave her from one second to another. The fire in her eyes extinguished but what it was replaced with was even worse for him. He had never wanted to see the blue of her eyes so lifeless again. “We are both adults,” Maria Theresia whispered, no longer looking at him as she leaned heavily against a chest of drawers. He did not know what to respond, his mind still not able to let go of the accusation that had been thrown at his head. It took him a few seconds to collect his thoughts but just as he was about to open his mouth, his wife spoke again. “If you... desire to seek your comfort with another woman it is up to you, all I am asking of you is to tell me so that I will not be embarrassed in front of my entourage again.”

If it would have been possible, Franz Stephan would have believed that the air had been knocked from his lungs in the split of a second and he continued to stare at her, not able to do anything else. “What?”

His wife made a sound as if she was physically hurting, “Stop it, Stephan. In God’s name, just stop with the lies.”

“What lies?” He could not prevent his voice from growing louder, too shocked by what he had been told. “If I am going around fucking another woman I would surely be aware of it, would I not? I would surely remember fucking her but what you are saying is not true!” His words were followed by a choked sob from Maria Theresia, who was since holding onto the edge of the drawer as if it was the only thing that kept her upright. Franz Stephan did not register it. “Is it what you want? For me to find myself a woman that will join me in my bed all so eagerly because you no longer desire me? Is that what you want?” His voice rose loud enough that it surely could be heard on the corridor, “ _Is it?_ ”

Maria Theresia was shook by another sob, one so forcefully that it pulled the plug on Franz Stephan’s anger. “Get out,” his wife sobbed, “get out, get out.” Her orders were so weak that he would have needed to be utterly brainless in order to not realize that she did not really mean it. “L-Leave me alone.”

“Theresia...”, he whispered and did not hesitate before he closed the gap between them to wrap his arms around Maria Theresia from behind. He just needed to hold her, if he would have been asked he would not have been able to explain it. His heart felt as if it was ultimatively torn apart when she struggled in his hold, weakly trying to get out of it but Franz Stephan squeezed his eyes shut and kept his arms closed around her. “I am here,” he spoke into her ear, his voice still not above a whisper. “There could never be another woman for me, never.” Her struggles continued for a few more moments, all while her sobs and the tremble that went through her body intensified - she was a mere wreck of the woman that she had been before the death of their children. He drew in a sharp breath when Maria Theresia suddenly stilled in her struggles and just as he had began to fear that she might have fallen unconscious, she turned around. Not to face him, but to allow herself fall forward and pressed her face into his chest, letting another deep sob escape her throat. Franz Stephan sighed and closed his eyes, sending a quick _thank you_ to God as he kissed the top of Maria Theresia’s head. While he was still burning to find out just who had told her that he was having an affair that noblewoman, he decided to not ask her about it right then, considering how composureless she already was. “I love you, Theresia,” he whispered into her hair, keeping his eyes closed as he listened to her cries.

For how long they stood like that, closely intertwined, Franz Stephan did not know. Whether it had been ten minutes or an hour before her cries had ebbed down, it did not matter to him, and when Maria Theresia pulled back to wipe at her face, he did not remove his arms from around her. He wondered whether he should call for the doctor or not, but it was his intention that told him what no doctor would be able to help his beloved wife. Maria Theresia did not speak as she wiped at the tears that she had shed and neither did she look up to meet Franz Stephan’s gaze, who was on the verge of tears himself. “May I ask you something?”

She cleared her throat before she answered with a whispered “Yes” and it was only after he had drawn in a deep breath that he could force himself to speak.

“Who... told you. About me and...” God, he did not even want to put that noblewoman’s name into his mouth when he was in the presence of his wife.

“Delacroix, who apparently heard it from Auersperg herself.”

For the second time in the last hour, he felt anger beginning to boil in the pit of his stomach. _How dare that women...!_ “Theresia,” he hurried to say, only pulling his arms away to get a hold of her tear-streaked face and when he tipped her head back, she looked up at him rather reluctantly - as if she did not know whether to trust him or not. “She joined a game of mine in the salon, that was all. I have no idea as for why she is claiming such things.” He swallowed, his heart aching, “I promise that I did not sleep with her or did anything else that went beyond a simple game of cards.”

“It is just,” Maria Theresia cleared her throat, “I w-would understand it if you were to seek another as I cannot give you what you desire the most and-”

Franz Stephan only hesitated for a second before he pulled he into a kiss; it was a rather hard and demanding one, for he did not know how else he could have convinced her that she was so utterly wrong with what she thought. “I do not want to hear you say that again,” he spoke against her lips after their kiss had ended, earning himself a gasp from his wife. “You have always given me so much more than I ever could have asked for. You love me. You gave me Joseph, Theresia.” Shaking her gently, he tried to deepen their eye contact. “You are so much more than I have ever deserved to get.” He could see her swallow hard. “I... God, do you have any idea how scared I am of losing you?”

“But after my sickness-”

“What does it matter,” Franz Stephan cut her off with a soft, albeit demanding voice. “I could have lost you, Theresia. _You_. Joseph could have lost his mother and I could have lost the only woman I ever grown to love so what does it matter?”

“François...”

“No, you listen to me.” _It would be a cold day in hell before he would continue to allow her to think so little of herself. It had already been way too long._ “I know that we both imagined it differently, that we both would have loved to have two dozen children,” he went on, wiping away a tear that claimed its way down Maria Theresia’s face. “And I know that you are still grieving the loss of our children,” he kissed her forehead, “I am doing the same. But I cannot stand by and watch you destroying yourself because you believe that I am to leave you otherwise.”

“François, I...”

“I would never stop loving you because of something that is anything but in your hands, do you understand? But when I see you take the medicine that my father forced my mother to take, all I can see is you in her place, being bedridden and unable to live because the medicine ruined her body. Do you understand me? I do not want to be forced to stand by and watch you waste away day by day. It is not worth it, Theresia. It is simply not worth it.”

“Do you mean it?”

There was so much sheer hope in her voice that it caused Franz Stephan’s vision to blurry despite his best efforts to prevent it. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“No, you did not.”

He tried not to look to her right, where the bassinet still stood. It had been a gift of Maria Theresia’s mother when Maria Theresia had been pregnant with Joseph and she never had the heart to order for it to be put away, as if all of her hope was glued onto that piece of furniture. She sniffled, thus pulling him out of his thoughts, and he wiped at her face once more before he leaned down to kiss her again. He did so much slower and softer than when he had felt the need to convince her, tilting her head into an angle than enabled him to deepen the kiss. Maria Theresia allowed him to do so, merely gasped at the first swipe of Franz Stephan’s tongue against her lips. Her hands came up to hold onto his upper arms while he roamed his over her back - God, how he loved her even after all those years. Not able to remember when they had last kissed like this, with nothing but love and desire on his mind, Franz Stephan almost hesitatingly moved his hands until they rested on the swell of her backside, not certain whether he had read her compliance right.

The soft sound that his wife let out when he abandoned her lips to kiss down the side of her neck told him that he at least had not been discarded by hear, a prospect that had been enough to break his heart all over again. “François,” Maria Theresia sighed, and the sigh of him name coming out of _her_ mouth went straight to his nethers. When he pulled back to look at her, her face, albeit still wet from the tears she had shed, was no longer as lifeless.

“Words cannot describe how much I love you, Theresia. Please do not ever doubt it.”

She tilted her head as she looked up at him as if she needed time to think about whether she could believe him or not and just when his heart began to speed up again, out sheer fear that time, Maria Theresia raised onto the tips of her toes to place a kiss onto the left corner of his mouth. “You know that I could never love another in the way that I love you, François.”

Trying to ignore the strain in his breeches, Franz Stephan pulled his wife into a nearly bone-crushing embrace and gasped softly as Maria Theresia’s arms closed around him as well. “My love...” His words died in his throat when one of Maria Theresia’s hands suddenly brushed against the strain in his trousers, and he turned his face into the side of her neck to kiss the soft skin there once before pulling away to look at her once again. There was no reason for either of them to speak. Franz Stephan doubted that he would have been able do to it anyway, considering how his throat closed up when Maria Theresia smiled up at him in a way that she had not done it for a long time. The talk they, albeit rather short, had seemingly been just what they had both needed. “Promise me that you will not consult with that herbalist again,” he muttered against her lips after having kissed her again, “Swieten exclaimed his worry about it to me as well.”

“But if it is the only chance for us to-”

“No,” he cut her off, “it is not worth the risk of losing you to it.” Franz Stephan feared that he had not succeeded to show her how important of a matter it was for him but he did not get to mention it before Maria Theresia nodded, took his hands and guided them to the knot of her robe’s belt. He got the hint within an instant. “Are you certain?”

She nodded again, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Please.” Oh, he did not need to be told twice. He cupped her face with one hand and pulled her close by cupping her backside with the other, his tongue immediately being granted access past her lips and he moaned when she arched against him, the pressure against his erection making him eager for more.

As sad as it was, he could not remember the last time that they had done this because they really wanted it and not because they were desperate for another child. Their kiss deepened, became more eager and demanding and Maria Theresia gasped when he pulled her even closer against him. “God, I love you.” The humming sound that she answered with was the sign that he had waited for, and he bit down on the inside of his bottom lip as he started to work on the knot that kept Maria Theresia’s robe closed. He took his time, slowly pulled at the satin belt until it slipped open, revealing the skin that it was meant to cover. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered and reached underneath the satin fabric, moving his hands over the softness of her stomach, up her sides and down her back. A pink hue had risen into Maria Theresia’s face and she looked away for a moment before she looked up at him at the same time that she brought her hands up to unbutton his waistcoat. In the end, it was him who stood in the nude first and the blush on Maria Theresia’s face had since established himself when he pulled her towards the bed and began to place a line of soft kissed down the side of her neck, slowly removing the robe from her shoulders as he did so. “So beautiful...”

In return, Maria Theresia run her hands over the length of his arms with a gentleness that filled Franz Stephan’s chest with warmth of the best sort. My God, how much he loved her. They shared another kiss and he left her side only to close the door that seperated the bedroom from the antechamber, his heart somersaulting when he turned around and saw her already lying on the bed, her arms stretched out towards the headboard of the bed as if she wanted to seduce him. Their eyes met and they both chuckled as he strode over to the bed, their laughter not ceasing down when he crawled onto the mattress and moved until he towered above her. Her legs already came up to loosely wrap themselves around him and Franz Stephan would have been ready to sink into her at that very moment, but he could not have acted against his desire to take his time - he had not done it for far too long.

Maria Theresia gasped and moaned softly when he licked a trail down her neck, stopped to nibble and suck in the dip of her collarbone before moving further down. “François!”

He chuckled at the the gasped moan of his name as he kissed one of her breast and lightly squeezed the other, making sure that he did not suck hard enough for a bruise to form. He had only made that mistake once, and Maria Theresia had not been very forgiving afterwards. Understandably so, of course. It was when he began to caress her other breast that he moved a hand of his down between her spread legs, the tension in his lower stomach intensifying when his fingers were already met with her eager wetness. She moaned a high-pitched sound as he teased her clit with his thumb for a few moments and roamed his free hand over the softness of her stomach - he knew how insecure she was of it. To him, there could not have been someone more beautiful than the woman that bore him his children.

He slipped two fingers into her, causing her to arch her back and hold onto his hair as her hips twitched. “François, François!”

“I always enjoyed it when you shout my name like that.”

Maria Theresia snorted and shook her head, though moaned yet again when Franz Stephan crooked his fingers. “What about another’s name? Would you enjoy that as well?” While he knew that she was merely teasing him he still looked up to shoot her a dark gaze, which was replaced by a smile when he spotted the grin on her face. It was healing to see it, and while he knew that their... encounter on this day would not be enough to heal her, he had high hopes it would lay out the path that they could go together. “I am ready,” she moaned after he had worked his fingers inside of her for a good while, long enough for her legs to tremble and his cock to stand fully erected. “Oh I am ready.”

“Patience, my love,” he murmured and kissed her lips before he pulled his fingers out of her, raised onto his knees and sat back on his heels to pull her hips into his lap. It took some shuffling around, as they both had not done it in a while, but once Franz Stephan took a hold of his cock and guided its head to Maria Theresia’s opening, it seemed to happen within a second. He let out a strangled gasp when he entered her, took her by her hips and slowly pulled her against him while his hips moved forward.

“François...”

“My love...” He paused in his movements to allow Maria Theresia to adjust herself, which she did by pulling out the pillow from underneath her head. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, her face fully blushed as she bit her bottom lip and met his gaze. “Go on,” she breathed and oh, he did not need to be told again. Keeping a steady hold on her waist he moved until only the tip of his cock remained inside of his wife before he snapped his hips forward, pushing into her with what he hoped was not too great of a force. If he were to judge by the way that her mouth flew open and her pupils widened so much that the blue of her eyes was nearly invisible, he would have said that he had found the right amount of force and yet he threw a questioning look at her, wanting to be certain. Her eyes agreed without her having to speak.

The bed creaked slightly as Franz Stephan buried himself in the task of fulfilling his own as well as his wife’s pleasure, a few strands of hair soon being glued to his forehead. It was by no means fucking as he knew it. He knew just how precious this occasion was, how much he ought to appreciate the fact that she desired him in that moment and not the slightest bit of chance of him bringing another child into existence. He switched from muttering words of love and adoration to grunting the closer he came to his orgasm and Maria Theresia’s hands flew up to grab at his wrists when he began to tease her with his thumb, the whimpering sound that she let out spuring him on even more. It was her who came first, and when her body clenched around him as she whimpered a moan, she pushed Franz Stephan over the edge as well. His hips twitched when his orgasm took control of him, blinding his senses, and if it would not have been for Maria Theresia’s legs that were still wrapped around his waist, he surely would have toppled over backwards. Franz Stephan gasped for air and kept one hand on her stomach while stroking the inside of her thigh with the other as he tried to gain control of himself. “Oh mon bon Dieu,” he breathed, wiping at his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. He looked up to search for his wife’s gaze and when they found each other, he as well as Maria Theresia grinned. “Oh mon bon Dieu.”

She slowly loosened her legs from around him as she spoke, “Did you lose your ability to say anything else?”

He snorted and shook his head, grinning when he pulled out and drew a breathy gasp from his wife. “Am I not allowed to state how much you satisfied me, my dear wife?”

Franz Stephan moved over the mattress until he could lay down beside her, draping an arm around her waist and nuzzling his face into her neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Maria Theresia’s voice was barely above a whisper and just as soft as her fingers, which returned to stroke through his hair after he had pillowed his head on her chest. They did not speak, rather enjoyed their togetherness in silence for a while. Maria Theresia’s fingers did not disappear from his hair and Franz Stephan ran blind circles with his thumb where he had splayed his hand over her stomach.

“Promise it to me.” He knew that she had understood what he had meant when she stayed silent for a good few seconds.

“I cannot promise it.”

“Theresia...”

Raising onto his forearms to be able to look at her, Franz Stephan felt his heart plummeting. “It would be a lie if I did,” she went on, not averting her eyes from where it was glued onto the baldachin above them and he could see her swallow hard. “The medication is the only hope that I have left.” When he saw how her eyes gained a suspicious shimmer, he was no longer able to look at her. Franz Stephan looked down at his hand, trying, but failing, to not think about how he had last felt a child growing inside of her seven years ago. He did not blame her, of course he did not. It was not their fault - it would have been so much easier if it would have been a consequence of something that they had done wrong.

“There is still hope,” he eventually answered, his words not even convincing to his own ears and leaned down to kiss the soft flesh of her stomach. “But even if... it will not change my love for you. I promise it to you, Theresia. I promise. Please do not make me stand by and watch you destroying yourself.” They fell silent again and as Franz Stephan laid there, with his head on Maria Theresia’s chest and her fingers softly massaging his scalp, he once more wondered just what they have done to deserve a fate so cruel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some historians do claim that Franz Stephan had an affair with Maria Wilhelmina von Auersperg, but there is no evidence that he indeed had one.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**October 1749**

They had continued to lie on Maria Theresia’s bed after their after their lovemaking, and his head had rested on his wife’s chest until she had exclaimed that she would like to turn over. Afterwards, it had been him who had moved his fingers. Through the softness of her hair, up and down the curve of her spine and over the bridge of her shoulders. Franz Stephan had cherished those quiet minutes, which had been interrupted by nothing but the soft sounds of contents that come from his wife and the ticking of the grandfather clock. “Theresia?”, he had whispered after a while, his hand not stopping in its motion to draw invisible circles onto her skin. Maria Theresia had not raised her head from where it had been resting on her crossed arms, but she had opened her eyes and looked at Franz Stephan as much as it had only been possible for her to do. “Do you think that it is possible for us to... get closer again?”

When she had not answered right away, he had simply talked on. The nervousness and dread that had stood so boldly on his mind and in his chest had made it impossible for him to wait. “I will not force you, of course and nor will I, or can I, force you to give up your own rooms but I... I miss the times when I woke up to find you lying next to me, Theresia. I miss them more than I ever thought I would.”

Maria Theresia had then raised her head to heave herself onto her elbows. “I do not think that it is not possible,” she had answered, “though I will keep my own rooms, here as well as in the Hofburg.”

“I do understand that,” Franz Stephan had said with a nod. He had known that they most likely would not have drifted apart so much if he would not have preferred to be silence instead of talking about their grief, which had build itself up between them like a deviding wall. “It is what is set by protocol, is it not?”

She had snorted, “It is.”

“A ridiculous thing.”

“You usually are the one that insists for protocol to be gone after accordingly, François,” Maria Theresia had chirped with an unmistakably teasing tone underlining her words. 

“If it is a _useful_ rule, yes. But for us?” Sure, it was not hard to understand that if one would have been married for political reasons only, sharing a bedroom would be anything but a comfortable thing. They laughed and once their laughter ceased, the light silence returned. Franz Stephan had not been able to remember when they had last experienced togetherness in such a way. He had went back to caress Maria Theresia’s back, closing his eyes as the warm summer’s breeze reached him through the opened windows. For how long they had laid like this Franz Stephan had not known, but their togetherness had been interrupted when he had heard the door of the antechamber being opened. “Pour l'amour de Dieu!”

“What is it,” Maria Theresia had muttered, Franz Stephan’s caressing had brought her to a point of near slumber.

“There is someone here.”

“Just send them away, the chambermaids will be able to work once we are up,” his wife retorted with a chuckle and a shake of her head but not even two seconds after she had said that there had been a knock at the door of the bedroom.

“Mama?” The muffled voice of their son had shocked them both and their gazes found themselves on their own accords, both of them frozen for a few long moments. They had only broken out of the apparent state of shock and surprise when the handle of the door had been pushed down.

“Joseph!”

“Do _not_ dare to open that door Joseph or so help me God!”

“There is no reason for you to snarl at him, François!”

Within seconds Franz Stephan and Maria Theresia had been on their feet; Maria Theresia had hurried to slip into her morning robe while Franz Stephan cursed under his breath as he fought to get his legs into his trousers. The door had stood open a few mere inches wide and after the moment of hasted dressing had passed, Franz Stephan had needed to swallow hard when he had heard a soft hitching of breath coming from the antechamber. It had been Maria Theresia who had reacted first, however. She had called out for their son and had set herself down onto the edge of her bed, she as well as Franz Stephan, who had put on no more than his breeches, waiting for the door to open. It had not happened. “Joseph, my love, why do you not come in?” They had been able to hear their son sniffling as the door had been pushed open and Franz Stephan had felt a stab of remorse when Joseph had appeared into sight, sniffling while his eyes had been filled with tears. Maria Theresia had clicked her tongue, “Mon cœr, come here.” He had swallowed and had, rather helplessly, continued to stand on the spot, watching how his son had taken no more than a single, hesitating step into the room. His wife had shot him a dark gaze - rightfully so. He should have known better than the snap at the boy that was so extraordinarily sensitive. “Come, my love.” Joseph had sniffled once again and Franz Stephan had truly felt miserable when his son had not looked at him for more than the split of a second before he had run to get into his mother’s arms.

Franz Stephan had, for a moment, wondered whether he should leave Maria Theresia and their son alone. While Joseph had not been crying, he had been able to see how his son had been trembling where he had been held by Maria Theresia, who had whispered words into Joseph’s ear that he had not caught. He had been about to reach for his shirt to put it on as well when he had heart his son whisper something that he had never imagined to hear. “Mama, d-does Papa no longer love me?”, the boy had asked, his breath hitching anew and just as Franz Stephan had believed that it could not have been an any more heartbreaking sight, Joseph’s tear-filled eyes had looked at him from over Maria Theresia’s shoulder.

“I will never stop loving you, my son.” Franz Stephan had needed to swallow hard, “I apologise for having raised my voice.”

Joseph had not said anything, had merely continued to look at him with tear-filled eyes for a few more seconds before he had nestled further into Maria Theresia’s arms, who had ran a soothing hand over the boy’s back. “Now, my love,” Maria Theresia had eventually intervened, pulling back to kiss their son’s forehead, “your father apologised and I am certain that he is waiting for your answer.”

“Do you forgive me?” For anyone else it could, and probably would have been ridiculous. His father had snapped, even yelled at him ever since Franz Stephan had been able to think and if he would have reacted in the way that Joseph had, everything that his father would have said would have been along the lines of him being given something to cry over. But he had not been his father, having a good relationship with his son had been important to Franz Stephan and so he had set down at the opposite side of the bed, his gaze softened as he had not taken his eyes off Joseph. No, it had not only been important. It had been vital, for Joseph had been his only living child and he had known that it would tear him apart if a chasm should form itself between them. The boy had rubbed at his eyes with a balled-up fist, blinking hard to push the tears out that must have disturbed his vision while his bottom lip trembled. “Will you forgive me, my son?”

Franz Stephan’s voice had been anything but close to its normal volume and Maria Theresia’s gaze had no longer been dark when she had turned her head to look at him, loosening her arms from around Joseph, who had nursed his bottom lip between his teeth as if he had needed to decide whether he could forgive him or not. When a slow smile had shown itself on his son’s face, Franz Stephan had been sure that his heart had soared as high as it only could have and he had managed to smile back as he had pulled Joseph into an embrace after the boy had crawled across the bed to reach his side. “No matter what is going to happen,” he had spoken into his son’s curls, “my love for you will never cease,” and the nod that had followed from Joseph had been enough of an answer for him. 

Maria Theresia had been smiling at them when Franz Stephan had looked up. “Why did you came here, my love?”, she had asked, turning on the edge of the bed to be able to look at them better.

“I do not like to eat alone but I _had_ to,” Joseph had answered from where he had nestled against Franz Stephan’s naked chest, “I waited, but you did not come.”

Franz Stephan and his wife had shot each other a look, both trying to suppress a grin. Neither of them had really thought about dinner while they had been sharing a bed. “I apologise my love, your father and I must have forgotten the time.”

“What did you do?”

“We played,” Franz Stephan had answered before his wife could have had the chance to.

“What did you play?” Joseph had shifted in his arms to be able to look at him with the sheer curiosity of a child, “Can I play it too?”

Snorting a laughter, Franz Stephan had shaken his head while Maria Theresia had chuckled. “Not until you are much older, my son.”

“Why?”

“Because it is a games for adults, and you are far from one.” As if to underline his worde he had tickled his son’s side, making the young boy squeal with childish laughter.

“ _Noooo_ stop, Papa stop!”

He had shaken his head and had stopped tickling him to kiss the top of his head, allowing his son to nestle against his chest again. “I apologise, my love. It was not our intention to let you attend to dinner on your own.”

“I ate _three_ puddings.” Joseph had gasped after the words had blurted out of him and he had clasped his hands over his mouth as he had looked between his mother and his father, he had usually been allowed only one.

Franz Stephan had cocked a stern eyebrow while Maria Theresia had merely laughed and had gotten further onto the bed to stack a few pillows up in order to lean against them. “Were they delicious?”

“They were, Mama.”

“Theresia...”

“The only one that is going the straight way for a smacked bottom would be you, François.”

Joseph had giggled and had wriggled out of his father’s hold to seek his mother’s closeness again and he had not stopped giggling as he had halfway draped himself across Maria Theresia. “Pardon?” Franz Stephan’s attempt to stay serious had failed miserably, and he, too, had soon been laughing. No, he could not have been mad at his son for having done what any other child would have done in his situation. Joseph had turned over from where he had been held in Maria Theresia’s arms to grin at his father. “Oh, does the little brat think that it is funny?”

“Papa,” his son had giggled and even though he must have heard it a thousand times before, hearing it had still caused a warmth to spread out in his chest.

“Leave him be, François.”

Rolling his eyes, Franz Stephan had moved to lie on the bed as well. “If you say so, my dearest wife.”

“Papa?”

“Yes, Son.”

“I love you.”

He had smiled as he had brought a hand up to stroke his son’s curles, “And I love you.”

“Mama?”

“What is it, my love?”

“Can I... sleep here tonight? With you and Papa?”

“I... do not think if it is such a good idea, mon cœr. Papa and I need to wake up very early tomorrow.” A white lie it had been, of course, as them having to get out of bed at five in the morning had not been the reason as for why Maria Theresia had tried to deny Joseph’s request.

“Please, Mama.”

Franz Stephan had looked at his wife, but Maria Theresia’s attention had not strayed away from their son. She had sighed and ran her hand through Joseph’s hair, “Alright, my love. Just this once.”

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you Mama!”

The boy had dashed off soon afterwards with the order to find Madame d’Aboville, the nursemaid, in order to be prepaired for bed, and the silence that had returned once Joseph had left had been unexpectedly heavy. Franz Stephan had cleared his throat, unsure what to say. “I am certain that he knows,” Maria Theresia had said after a good minute of undisturbed silence had passed.

“What does he know?”

“That we are not sharing a bed.” He had watched how his wife had stood from the bed to move over towards the window from where she could watch over the gardens. “It is why he asked.”

“He is a clever boy,” Franz Stephan had retorted, feeling rather uncomfortable as he had continued to watch her. The sweet moment of tenderness which they had shared before Joseph had appeared could not have been further away.

“He is.”

Franz Stephan had nodded even though he had known that it would go by unnoticed and had stood from the bed as well, picking his discarded shirt off from where he had dropped it onto the floor to slip into it. “I will be back,” he had said with an unusually quiet tone once he had been dressed enough to step out into the corridor en route for his own rooms.

“Joseph is expecting you to, François.” To his ears Maria Theresia’s words had sounded... wrong in a way that he would have failed to explain, and Franz Stephan had not answered as he had collected his waistcoat and jacket from the floor as well before he had left his wife’s private rooms for his own.

His heart had beating so strongly in his chest that it had nearly robbed him of his breath and he had never been more grateful that the walk from his rooms had been a rather short one. He had leaned against the door that lead to his apartment as soon as he had closed it, pressing the balls of his hands against his eyes hard enough for it to be painful. If only he would not have touched the second pitcher of wine, if only he would not have allowed all those memories to claim the upper hand on him again. Good God, how he had missed the times when they had still shared a life, had not solely come together when it had been for the sake of their only surviving child. While he had known that his presence had been awaited, Franz Stephan had taken his time, had allowed himself to be washed by two of his manservants and for his hair to be washed, oiled and combed as well. He had not really known as for why he had dragged his night preparations out as much as he did. To try and order his thoughts, maybe.

“All done, Your Majesty.”

“Good.”

Franz Stephan had continued to sit in front of the mirror as the manservants gathered whatever they had brought with them to leave his rooms, had stared as his reflection almost unblinking and had drummed his fingers onto the wooden armrests of the chair that he had been sitting in. The situation that he had been in had agitated him unusually hard, so as if it had come around to haunt him because he had tried to push it away for so long. It had not been as if he had no longer loved cherished his wife and loved his son - God had known that there had been nothing as important in his life as those two, but the underlying rejection that Maria Theresia had gifted him with had made him wonder whether his love had still been returned. It had been a stupid question, of course, for he had known that her feelings could not have been faked when he had slept with her. No, it would have been unfair for him to act as if she had no longer valued him and yet Franz Stephan could not have helped himself. Sighing, he had eventually stood, had slipped his morning robe on and had made his way out of the privacy of his own rooms.

“You may enter,” Maria Theresia’s had called out when he had knocked at her door and he wordlessly opened and closed the door and loosely held his hands behind his back as he had crossed through the antechamber. The scene that he had been presented with had made his heart soar. Maria Theresia had been resting on her mountain of pillows, her gaze turned onto the book that she had been holding with her left hand while her right hand had laid on top of Joseph’s head, who had pillowed his head in his mother’s lap. The boy had already been asleep. Maria Theresia had looked up for no more than a second when she had heard his footsteps approaching, speaking as her eyes had already been turned to the book again. “He waited for you.”

He had opened his mouth to give an apology, but had closed it without having said a single word when his wife had sighed, so as if she would have been annoyed if he would have apologised. Clenching his jaw, Franz Stephan had shrugged his robe off to hang it over the back of a chair and had downright kicked his shoes off, causing them to scatter over the floor with quite the noise. It had earned him a dark look from Maria Theresia, which he had deliberatedly ignored as he had thrown the covers back to get underneath them.

“Papa?”

Franz Stephan had just pulled the brocade covers up to his chest when he had perceived his son’s tiny, slurred-by-sleep voice. “I apologise for taking such a long time,” he had said with a smile that he had hoped to not appear too forced, but it had turned into a honest one when Joseph had yawned, rubbed his eyes and sat up to move to Franz Stephan’s side instead. The boy had let out a soft sigh as Franz Stephan had laid an arm around him, and Joseph’s eyes had slowly dropped close almost as soon as he had nestled against his father’s side. Oh, how he had loved that boy. He had kissed the top of his son’s head before he had closed his own eyes, eager for the relief of a good night’s sleep, but instead of falling asleep as he had wanted it, he found himself listening to the sound of Maria Theresia turning one page of the book after another.

“François?”

Unsure whether he had heard correctly or not, Franz Stephan had not answered. He had only opened his eyes when he had heard Maria Theresia clearing her throat and letting out a sigh that had sounded more like a suppressed sob. “Theresia?”

“I-I thought that you were asleep,” she had hurried to answer, clearing her throat and when Franz Stephan had turned his head into her direction, he had seen how his wife had quickly turned onto her side, her back turned towards him, wiping at her eyes in a way that surely had been meant to go by unnoticed by him.

“Theresia...” Carefully removing his arms from around his sleeping son, Franz Stephan had reached out to drive his finger’s into his wife’s hair.

“I do not mean to... talk to you like I do,” she had whispered, not turning around. He had not forced her to. “It is just that I... I do not know what is happening to me. To us.”

Franz Stephan had known the answer. It had been grief, grief over the loss of their children and their old life that they both had tried, and failed, to keep away from them. “I know.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Theresia. You can be certain that nothing will ever be able to change the fact that I do.” Maria Theresia had rolled over onto her back a few moments later and had blindly reached for Franz Stephan’s hand to take it into her own, lacing their fingers together while neither of them had said a word. The room had since been shadowed by the last remainders of a late summer’s sunset and Franz Stephan had made sure not to wake Joseph as he had turned onto his side. His son had indeed not woken, had merely nestled closer against him as he had wrapped his left arm securely around Joseph and as Franz Stephan had looked up to meet with Maria Theresia’s gaze, he had felt his vision growing blurry with tears. Right then, he had everything close to him that he had needed in his life. His son and his beloved wife had been there with him and while he had known that he and Maria Theresia had been far from alright, his hopes had risen again. “We ought to try harder,” Franz Stephan had whispered, “for him. For us, Theresia. I am not happy with how the things are between us.”

“I know,” she had answered with an equally low voice, “I am sorry.”

“It is not your fault.” “But it is, François. If my body would only-”

“Hush, I told you that I am not blaming you.”

After the night that they had spend sharing a bed for the first time in years, things had taken a turn for the better for them and their relationship. It had not happened from one day to another, of course, but Maria Theresia would no longer be repellent if he would come to visit her in her apartment at the end of a long day and neither would she try to deny him an opportunity to share a bed. To say that Franz Stephan had fallen in lover with her all over again would have been unfair, considering that he had never stopped loving her, but it, in a way, had been a renaissance of the summer that they had grown to love each other in the first place. For the first time in years they had been able to truly enjoy the presence of each other; marital sex had no longer been the sole reason as for why they had seeked each other’s closeness and while neither of them had truly buried the wish of having another child, it had no longer been the motivation behind their moments of togetherness. God had known how much Franz Stephan had cherished the minutes which he had spend holding her, touching her skin and feeling her breath on his skin.

Summer had turned into autumn with an ease and when October presented itself in all its glory, Franz Stephan was certain that they had successfully overcome the crisis which had shaken them both down to their very core. Seeing the light return into his wife’s eyes had been more healing than he had ever imagined it to be. They were due to leave their summer residence for the Hofburg at the end of the month and in a way, Franz Stephan was grateful for it. Schönbrunn was simply too big, with too many empty, unused and quiet rooms that showed him just what he and Maria Theresia did not have and Franz Stephan not only reconciled with his wife, but made it a goal of his to spend more time with his only living child. Not that he had neglected Joseph before, it was known that he and Maria Theresia were more caring of their son than many other monarchs, but Franz Stephan had needed to admit to himself that he had indeed held him at a bit of a distance and so he tried to be there for him as much as he only could have been.

“I am ready, Papa.”

“Oh how adorable you are, mon cœr. Come here, let me have a look at you!” He did not try to hide his smile as he watched how Maria Theresia walked over to Joseph and drew him into her arms to kiss his cheeks, making the boy squeal and giggle. What Maria Theresia had said was no lie, Joseph did look exceptionally endearing in the riding attire that had been tailored for him and Franz Stephan watched, with a smile on his face and warmth in his chest, how his wife pulled back to inspect their son.

“You look very proper, my love. Are you excited?” Joseph nodded and while the smile on his face was a honest one, Franz Stephan did not miss the way that the boy’s hands were clutching at the riding crop. “You will do good,” he thus said, winking at his son, “I am certain of it.”

“But what if I fall.”

Maria Theresia took Joseph’s chin into one hand and brushed his curls off his forehead with the other, “There is no shame in falling, Joseph. Ask your father, he had his own fair share of falls as a young boy.”

“But it will hurt,” Joseph whispered, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he worringly nursed his bottom lip between his teeth.

“It will be alright. I promise, do not worry so much, my love. Papa will take good care of you.”

“Okay.”

His son’s sheepish voice made Franz Stephan smile, and he reached out with his left hand. “Come, Joseph.”

Maria Theresia patted the boy’s head, “Have fun, my love. I will see you at dinner,” before she made her way over to Franz Stephan to kiss him. “Make sure that he will not get hurt,” she whispered against his lips and Franz Stephan ran her hand down the curve of her back to reassure her. “Do not worry, Theresia. Like you said, he will be just fine.”

She snorted and shook hear head before she stole another kiss from him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” His son’s hand came up to grasp at his when he watched Maria Theresia leave and once his wife had disappeared behind the closed door, he crouched down to be at an eye level with Joseph and gently tugged his son’s bottom lip out from between his lips. “I will be displeased if I see any blood on it.”

“I am sorry, Papa.”

He kissed his forehead before he rose and cocked his head into the direction of the door, “Come now.” Joseph did not show any intention to let go of his hand and Franz Stephan did not force him to. Hand in hand they moved through the palace of Schönbrunn and while some claimed that the prince was too old to seek his father’s closeness as much as he did, Franz Stephan was glad for the way that Joseph did behave around him. What did it matter to him if Prussian princes were not allowed to hold their mother’s hand in public once they turned five, or if French princes would be send away from their parents at the age of seven. Joseph was his heir, indeed he was, but he was his son first.

“Papa?”

“Yes, my son.”

“Do I have to ride one-one of the large horses?”

Franz Stephan chuckled and squeezed the boy’s hand as they stepped down the grand staircase and onto the courtyard. “Of couse not.”

“Oh.”

“It would do you no good if you were to sit upon a full-grown horse right away.” The young boy stayed quiet for the remainder of the walk to the royal stables, but gasped when he spotted the saddled animal that had been tied to a post by one of the stable workers. The black and white pony, which was barely tall enough to reach Franz Stephan’s waist, was dozing as they approached it and did not make a sound when Franz Stephan patted its hind to wake it. “Come on, you can touch it,” he said to Joseph, who had come to stand behind him so as if he felt the need to hide from the animal. “Come on.” Franz Stephan watched how his son closed in to the pony with small steps and an outstretched hand and he could not have done but smile. It was uttermost adorable. The pony huffed softly as Joseph cupped his hand against its nose - the boy was terrified of horses ever since he had been kicked by one a few months ago. It had not been a hard kick, not enough to cause any damage, but Joseph had refused to accompany either his mother or his father to the stables afterwards.

A stable boy appeared a few moments later, carrying a stool. “Your Majesty. Your Royal Highness.”

Franz Stephan dismissed him with a nod of his head and took the stool to place it at the horse’s left, telling his son to come and stand on it. Joseph obeyed, turned his head to look at his father with wide eyes and Franz Stephan put his hand onto his son’s shoulder. “It is not so difficult, Son. All that you need to do is to put your left foot into the stirrup, push yourself off the stool and make sure that your right leg does not touch the horse’s back.” He took the riding crop out of Joseph’s and pinned it underneath the flap of the saddle before he moved to stand to his son’s left side and get a hold of the stirrup. “Come, you can do it.” His heart did hurt a bit when he saw how his son paled a bit but nodded, unmistakingly trying put on a brave face. “Put your left foot into the stirrup, come on.” His son’s small hands held onto the saddle with enough strength for the knuckles to stand out and Franz Stephan could see that they were trembling as Joseph did bend his leg and raised it, placing his foot on the bar of the stirrup. “Very good,” he praised him, knowing how much the boy needed to hear it, and Joseph turned his head to smile at him for a short moment. “Up you go, my love. One, two- There you are!”

His son seemed a bit stunned as he suddenly sat upon the pony’s back but as soon as Joseph realised that he was indeed sitting in the saddle, he grinned from ear to ear. “Papa, I did it.”

Franz Stephan chuckled and stroked the boy’s cheek, “It was not so hard, was it.”

“No,” his son answered with a cheerful shake of his head, sending his curls flying, and Franz Stephan showed him how to properly hold the reins in his hands before he loosened the leading rope from the post.

“Do not pull them too tight, Joseph, but you need to make sure that they will not hang sagged.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Tugging at the leading robe, Franz Stephan clicked his tongue a few times to urge the pony into motion and walking backwards to be able to keep an eye on his son, who had let out a small squeaking sound at the first movement of the animal. “Very good, Joseph.” Franz Stephan looked at him for a few more minutes before he turned back around, leading the pony across the forecourt of the royal stables into the direction of the park.

“Good pony,” Joseph whispered as his father gave the signal for the gate being opened to a bystanding guard, patting the pony’s neck, “good pony.”

“Do you like her?”, Franz Stephan had asked, looking at his son from over his shoulder. “I do.”

“She will be yours then, son.”

“Oh, really?”

He nodded and with Joseph’s giggle they fell quiet, the air around them filled with the sound of hooves moving over muddy ground. The first honest autumn rainfalls had since begun to set in during the evenings, often to last until the next morning, thus having turned the gardens and the park into rather lifeless ones and Franz Stephan could not wait for the coming spring, when he would be able to continue with the expansion of their grounds and especially the menagerie. They walked a small round through the park before Franz Stephan decided that the gardens would be a better fit - the pony could slip on the moody ground and it would have done anything but a favour to the boy, who yet had to fully relax in the saddle. He contemplained whether to tell him, but eventually removed the leading robe from the pony’s snaffle without a word of notice. Joseph gasped and the boy’s eyes were wide when Franz Stephan turned his head to look at him. “It will be alright,” he said, moving his hand through the short mane.

“But Papa...”

“Wait here.” He helped his son to bring the animal to a halt by gently pulling at the reins before he strode along the broadside of flower bed until he came to stand a good thirty meters away from Joseph. “Press your heels into her side, Joseph.” The boy stalled, merely continued to look at him and even from the distance Franz Stephan was able to see the paleness of his son’s face. “Come on, it will be alright.” It took a few more moments, but Joseph eventually did as he had been told and the boy clinged onto the pony’s mane as it fell into a slow trot - he had made the right decision with chosing that pony for his son. “Well done,” Franz Stephan praised him once he had caught the reins and had, once more, helped Joseph with urging the animal to a halt. “That was not so hard, was it?”

“No,” Joseph retorted, a bit of colour having since risen into his face and he bit his lip before he asked, “Can I do it again?”

“Of course. You can ride an entire round it you would like to, she will know the way.” Nursing his bottom lip between his teeth, Joseph nodded. “Good then,” Franz Stephan nodded as well as he stepped back and let go of the reins. “Remember: sit up straigt, press your heels into her sides to urge her on and do not pull too much at the reins.”

“I will try.”

“I am sure that you will to just great, my love.” Holding his hands behind his back, he watched how Joseph behaved a bit more confident in the saddle and the boy’s laughter echoed through the garden as the pony trotted over the path. The laughter was a heartwarming thing to hear and Franz Stephan could not have banished the smile out of his face if he would have wanted to. Joseph did not only ride a single round, but went on to drive the pony for round after round. “Very good,” Franz Stephan called out, joining his son in his laughter. It was not only a heartwarming thing, but a healing one as well and he was, once again, utterly grateful that he had the boy in his life. He did not know if Maria Theresia was watching from the room of her study as he turned towards the palace though smiled as if she was indeed doing so. For how long Franz Stephan had stood there and had watched watched his son he did not know, but when the pony, and Joseph, came to stand next to him, the sun was already shifting to her last phase of the day. “I believe that we ought to do it again tomorrow,” he said, patting the pony’s neck and smiling at his son who was downright beaming at him.

“We should!”

He laughed out loud, “Alright then. Your mother is very eager to hear about how it went, Joseph.” The walk back to the stables was short and the boy had not lost his smile as Franz Stephan helped him to dismount the pony. “You must think of a name for her.”

Joseph turned his head to look at his father from where he was busy running his palm over the bridge of the pony’s nose. “Oh.”

Franz Stephan chuckled, “You do not have to decide on one right now, of course.”

They watched how a stable boy lead the pony away and when Franz Stephan rested a hand upon his son’s shoulder, the boy leaned his head into the touch. It caused a sudden wave of dread to wash over him, making him utterly scared of any blow that God, or fate, were to him them with yet. No, he would not survive if something were to happen to his beloved son. Tighting the hold he had on Joseph’s shoulder just so that it would not hurt him, Franz Stephan kept his hand in place while he and his son walked back towards the palace. It was not all that easy to be in a position where his wife, albeit his title as Emperor, stood on a higher rank than him and that her duties were often much more important than his - but it enabled him to spend more time with his son and doing the things that were of his interest.

“Papa?” Joseph pulled him out of his thoughts as the pair of guards closed the entrance door behind them.

“Yes, Son.” “Do you... know why Mama is always crying?”

It would have been a lie if he would have said that he did not know what the boy had meant, he had heard her muffled cries at night on more than a single occasion and yet he found himself unable to answer for a few seconds. He cleared his throat, “I... cannot answer you that,” he eventually said. “But it is nothing for you to worry.”

“Is it because she wants to have another child, Papa?”

“What?”

“I know that Mama wants to have another child,” the boy whispered, and Franz Stephan sensed that it had claimed a large space on his son’s mind. “Is it because she no longer wants me?”

Franz Stephan moved to stand in front of his son, instantly crouching down and taking Joseph’s face into his hands. The fact that there were tears shining in the boy’s eyes was nearly enough to break his heart. “Your mother loves you very much, my love. I would lie if I would say that she loves anyone, or anything, as much as she loves you.” He tilted his head as he stroked his son’s cheeks and the boy’s bottom lip trembled when Joseph nodded. Franz Stephan had since realized that their son was getting more of it than either he or Maria Theresia had believed, and considering how sensitive and introveted the boy was, it was of greates worry to Franz Stephan. Yes, they wished for another child - but not because they were dissatisfied with the son they had. “Do not think such things. Your mother and I wish for another child... so that you will have a little brother or a little sister, Joseph.”

“Okay.” He was not truly convinced that the young boy was believing what he had said, but he did only so much as kiss his forehead and take his hand to continue their way for he was positively at a loss for words.

Joseph had never been told much of his siblings, as Franz Stephan and Maria Theresia were not able to speak about them without suffering from an outburst of emotions and they both believed that they would protect him by not telling him. They never visited the crypt with him; there could not have been a more heartbreaking image than Joseph standing in front of the tombs of his sisters and his brother. Franz Stephan gave his son over to the chambermaids for a quick wash and a change of attire before he himself ordered his valet to help him undress. His mud-covered shoes would require a cleaning if he wished for them to last another month and Franz Stephan had just finished to close the buttons of the fresh waistcoat when the door of his bedroom was opened.

“Were you not taught to knock,” he said, but the smile on his face took the bite out of his words as he turned around to where Joseph was closing the door behind him.

His son’s face gained a bit of colour and the boy shifted his weight from foot to foot as he muttered, “I am sorry Papa, I forgot...”

He sighed, shook his head with a snort and beckoned his son over to him. “I love you,” Franz Stephan said, smiling to himself when Joseph averted his gaze to the floor, “but sometimes I could just,” he took his son by the wrist, spun him around and patted rather than hit his backside, making Joseph giggle and try to wind out of his father’s hold, “punish you _accordingly_.” His son knew that Franz Stephan was merely joking, something that was very relieving to him. Joseph rarely ever misbehaved and the punishments that followed his misdemeanours never exceeded a single smack - Franz Stephan never would have had the heart to punish his son as roughly as his father had always punished him. The mere prospect of beating Joseph with a belt, a martinet or the cane that his own father had favoured so much... no, he could not do it. His son was still giggling when he let go of him.

“That did not hurt,” the boy exclaimed and when Franz Stephan reached out for him again, a playful grin on his face, Joseph jumped backwards with childish excitement.

“Shall I demonstrate how much it can hurt?”

“ _Noooo_ you do not have to Papa!”

“Alright then,” Franz Stephan laughed and pulled his son into an embrace, kissing the top of his head. “I am certain that you are quite hungry after all the riding that you did.” A quick look at the clock had told him that it would soon be time for dinner and upon Joseph’s eager nod, he decided to leave en route for the Stallions Room, his family’s private dining room. Franz Stephan walked with his hands loosely held behind his back while Joseph dashed through the corridor, followed by a few of the royal dogs, laughing with the delight of a child. _What he would give to hear another child of his laughing like this_. Franz Stephan did not miss the look of disappointment on his son’s face when Joseph, quite laboriously, pushed the double-winged door of the Stallions Room open and saw that Maria Theresia was not present. “She will be here soon,” he tried to appease him, “I promise.” His son did not answer, merely sighed and moved to sit in his designated chair while Franz Stephan sat down himself. Maria Theresia and he had, in fact, not participated at breakfast together, with his wife having claimed that she had not been hungry and so he could very well have been as nervous as his son to find out whether she would be attending or not.

A servant had just poured him a glass of the autumn’s white wine when the double-winged door was opened anew and Joseph’s excited shout told Franz Stephan who it was before he could have taken a look himself. Maria Theresia greeted their son with a kiss to his cheek before she claimed her seat at the opposite end of the table than Franz Stephan was seated at. She smiled at him and he returned a smile in an equal manner. It was only when Maria Theresia was seated that the food was brought to the table. “How was your ride, mon cœr,” she asked as a servant poured hot water into her cup for her to sprinkle it with dried tea leafes.

“It was very good Mama,” Joseph retorted in excitement, “Papa said that it is my pony!”

She had already known about it, of course, but for the sake of their son’s excitement Maria Theresia gasped in surprise. “Is that so?”

“Yesh!”

“Do not speak with a full mouth, Joseph,” Franz Stephan gently scolded him, smiling when the boy offered him an apologetic look. He took another sip from the wine, “How was your day, Theresia.” He listened to his wife’s report about how brainless some of the foreign ministers were and how utterly boring the afternoon conference had been as he loaded food onto his plate, cutting a piece off a meat pie and nodding to let her know that he was indeed listening to her. Maria Theresia went on for a few moments and Franz Stephan frowned not because of her talking, but because she was not touching none of the food, solely stirring the silver spoon in the cup of tea. “Are you not hungry?”

He unintentionally interrupted her with his question and Maria Theresia, seemingly a bit stunned, took a while to answer. “I... had a short meal in between two audiences,” she eventually answered. Franz Stephan did not believe her; it was only then that he noticed the paleness that had spread out over the bridge of her nose as well as her cheeks.

“Mama?”

Maria Theresia drew in a deep, and somewhat unsteady breath, “Yes, my love?”

“Will you go riding with me tomorrow?”

“I will make sure to free enough time in the afternoon,” she said, smiling at Joseph over the rim of her cup, “I promise.”

Their son’s face lit up even more and Franz Stephan smiled as well, knowing just how precious the child’s happiness was. He ate the food on his plate, trying not to be too noticable in the way that he looked to see whether his wife was eating anything at all. Maria Theresia’s cutlery had remained unused for the first two courses and it was only when the desserts were presented that she picked a baked treat from one of the étagères. It was not enough to ease the worry that was, unexplainably so, on his mind, but Franz Stephan decided to not ask her about it and instead allowed himself to relax in the small circle of his family.

“Mama?” He looked up just in time to see how Maria Theresia, with a stark white face, jumped onto her feet to bold towards the door that lead to the adjoining room, slamming the door shut behind her. It had happened so fast that by the time that Franz Stephan had stood, the sound of her throwing up was already reaching them. “Papa.” Joseph spoke with a barely audible voice as he, too, slipped from his chair and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Sit back down,” Franz Stephan said from where he stood practically frozen to the spot for a good few seconds as he decided what he were do to.

“But-”

“I told you to sit back down, Joseph!” He had not wanted to bark at his son as much as he ended up doing it and when he saw how Joseph’s eyes were almost imediately shining with unshed tears, he cursed under his breath and while he knew that he probably apologize to his son first, Franz Stephan strode over to the door behind which Maria Theresia had disappeared. He opened it without knocking and his heart dropped when he saw his wife kneeling in front a chamber pot, flanked by a chambermaid each.

“Your Majesty-”

“Theresia.” Maria Theresia gagged yet again as Franz Stephan hurried to close the door behind him, and it had been so forceful that it alarmed the guard that stood outside on the corridor. “Notify the doctor,” Franz Stephan spoke to the guard, who had entered after having knocked twice.

“I will do so right away, Your Majesty.”

Two more gags followed before her sickness apparently ebbed down and Franz Stephan was at her side as soon as he noticed that she was trying to get back onto her feet, ignoring the worried looks of the chambermaids. “My love,” he whispered, trying to help her by holding her by the upper arm. “What happened?”

“I do not know, I...” Maria Theresia trailed off and Franz Stephan found himself truly shook down to his core when he noticed how she was practically swaying where she stood. “I...” Her knees gave out but before she could have crumbled onto the floor, one of the chambermaid jumped forwards to steady her.

“Your Majesty,” she directed at Franz Stephan, “I... believe that it would be best to help Her Majesty to bed.”

He nodded, “We ought to,” and pressed his lips together as he brushed a strand back from his wife’s sweaty forehead, trying not to let his worry show. With the aid of the chambermaid Franz Stephan walked Maria Theresia to her rooms; she was so unsteady on her legs that they would not have been able to hold her upright. Once Maria Theresia was sitting on the edge of her bed, pale faced and shaking, the chambermaid disappeared in order to get a basin, leaving Franz Stephan alone with his wife. “What happened, my love?”, he asked once again, kneeling in front of her to get a look at her face.

“I do not know.” Maria Theresia’s voice was as weak as she seemed to be and he laid his hand on top of hers to squeeze them slightly. God, how worried he was. While she had stayed relatively health after having overcome the sickness that claimed the life of their unborn son, Franz Karl, and hers at a hair’s breadth as well, Franz Stephan had been worried about her health ever since and the prospect of this being the beginning of a the same illness was enough to drive him mad.

“Do you have a fever?” He raised a hand to lay its back against Maria Theresia’s forehead but it, albeit being covered with a sheet of sweat, was rather cold to the touch instead of hot.

“No, I do not think so.”

Clicking his tongue, he took her face into his hands to stroke the soft skin over her cheekbones. “I love you.” She hummed in agreement and leaned her cheek into his palm, closing her eyes. “Do not fall asleep before the doctor arrives,” he urged her and she, once more, made a humming sound of agreement.

“I will not fall asleep, but I do feel less sick if I keep them closed.” Franz Stephan continued to stay crouched down and did not dare to remove his hand - if it was the only thing that he could do to provide comfort for her he would do it without complaining. “What did you tell Joseph?”, Maria Theresia suddenly asked after what very well could have been five minutes of silence and her question stunned him a bit.

“I... did not tell him anything.”

“Go to him,” she said with a low sigh, “tell him that I am alright.”

Franz Stephan took the appearance of the chambermaid as his hint to leave, kissing the top of her head before he left her bedroom. It was no lie, he did feel bad for having snapped at the boy who had only been worried about his mother and he knew very well that he, the older Joseph would get, could not allow himself to act like this - for it was how his own father had ruined their relationship. He hurried to return to the Stallions Room, but it was to no real surprise that he found the chair that his son had been sitting in abandoned. Franz Stephan did not even think about it being disobedience, Joseph must be scared and every thing that he, as his father, had done had been to snarl at him. None of the servants that were clearing the table had seen where the young prince had dashed off to, and he sighed as he made his way to his son’s room. His knocking went unanswered and he made sure to knock once again before he did open the door. “Joseph?”

Franz Stephan could not do but smile, though not really happily, when he noticed the elevation underneath the covers of Joseph’s bed and even if he would not have preceived the sniffles that came from it, he would have known that his sons was hiding there. He did not speak as he closed the door behind him and moved to sit down on the edge of the, gently putting his hand where he suspected his son’s back to be. “Joseph...” There was shuffling underneath the brocade covers but the boy did not come to light. Sure, Franz Stephan could have pulled his son out of the covers away but he knew that his son would only be more scared if he would do so. “Come out, son. I wish to apologise to you.” A bit more shuffling and the covers were slowly raised, just enough for Joseph’s face to come into sight and oh, how it caused Franz Stephan’s heart to ache. His son’s eyes were puffy and red, his cheeks blotched and his hair dishevelled. “Come here.” He moved to put his arm around Joseph, stopping in motion when the boy shuffled away from him instead.

Another sob was building up in Joseph’s chest and Franz Stephan sat by and watched how his son looked at him in a way that he knew too well - he had looked at his own father like this many times when he had been unsure whether he ought ot prepare himself for an an embrace or a beating. He knew that it was his fault, the unusually sensitive child took everything to heart that was said to him and so he pressed his lips together as he reached out for Joseph again and that time, the boy did not hinder him from stroking his hair. In the end, it was Joseph who seeked an embrace from him and Franz Stephan send a silent _thank you_ to God as he drew his son into his arms and onto his lap, kissing his temple and rocking him like he had done in when Joseph had been a toddler. “What is wrong with Mama?”

“I ought to tell you that she is just alright,” he answered and even though it was a lie, he never would have confessed that neither he nor Maria Theresia knew what the doctor would say. “Do you remember when you ate so much pudding that you had to throw it up at night, hm?” Joseph nodded, but did not move from where he was nestled against his father’s chest. “Well, it appears that your mother ate too much of her favorite chocolates.”

The lie he told did not make himself feel better but when his son giggled between two sniffles, Franz Stephan joined him. “Will she be okay again?”

“Of course, my love. Of course.” Whether he said it to convince Joseph of himself, he did not really know, and he continued to rock his son, humming a low tune, until he perceived a soft snore. He should have guessed that the boy was exhausted after a day of studying, riding and eventually crying his little heart out. Joseph was still dressed in his evening attire, minus his jacket and shoes, but Franz Stephan did not even consider waking him up and he tried to be as gentle as he only could when he laid him down onto the bed. “I love you.” From one second to another his vision grew blurry and he clenched his jaw as he made sure that Joseph was properly covered before he leaned down to kiss his forehead and stood from the bed. It was not only him that wanted the boy to stop worrying, but Maria Theresia as well and he knew that she would not want their son to know even if her health would worsen. The prospect of him ending up alone with Joseph was... Franz Stephan forced himself to not think into that direction, to not give the possibility if his beloved wife falling terribly ill a single ounce of his time and if his hands were balled into fists behind his back as he strode through the corridor, he did not notice it.

He was able to hear muffled voices where he paced back and forth in the antechamber. For how long he did so Franz Stephan could not tell, it could have been two minutes or it could have been twenty and he only stopped in his tracks when the door to his wife’s bedroom was opened. “Your Majesty.” Gerard van Swieten, Maria Theresia’s private physician, greeted him with a dutiful bow which Franz Stephan acknowledged with a nod.

“What illness is my wife suffering from?”, he asked with an unusually low voice and he swallowed hard when the doctor averted his gaze instead of answering right away.

“I... would not necessarily describe Her Majesty’s... condition as an illness, Your Majesty.”

The snort that escaped him was a humorless one - he always preferred Jean Baptiste Bassand over Swieten, who had an annoying habit of talking in riddles. “So? What does that mean? Do I need to prepare our son for the death of his mother?”

“No no, Your Majesty,” Swieten hurried to answer, “’tis not what I meant.”

“Then what is it?”

“The tests that I did only allow one conclusion.”

Franz Stephan really needed to control himself and he closed his eyes for a second. “Which would be?”

“That Her Majesty is pregnant, Your Majesty.”


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**December 1749**

_“That Her Majesty is pregnant, Your Majesty.”_ Franz Stephan was certain that there had not been a time in his life when he had any more dumstruck than when Gerard van Swieten had finished speaking. _“That Her Majesty is pregnant, Your Majesty.”_ “What?” He had known that his face had fallen, but it had taken him a few moments before he had been able to close his mouth.

“I... am very much suprised myself, Your Majesty.”

Continuing to stare at the doctor, Franz Stephan had perceived nothing but the sound of blood rushing in his ears and the beating of his heart in his throat. It surely had to be a lie, a mistake. “Are you telling me,” he had eventually brought out, his voice low and his breathing heavy as if from exertion, “that my wife is pregnant after we spend the last seven years...” Franz Stephan had trailed off and had shaken his head as he had turned away from the doctor, refusing to believe what he had been told. It had been impossible and to think that van Swieten had the nerve to bring hope to Maria Theresia when they all knew that it, in truth, had been in vain. Once it would turn out to not be another pregnancy it would be his duty to catch her, to stop her from falling into the same deep hole from which he had just recently managed to lift her out of. Franz Stephan had sighed, had closed his eyes and had run a hand over his face before he had turned back towards the doctor. “Have you told her?”

Gerard van Swieten’s eyebrows pulled together, “Of course, Your Majesty. It is neither my desire nor within my rights to lie to Her Majesty if Her Majesty is asking for my opinion, Your Majesty.”

“It cannot be true,” Franz Stephan had muttered, rather to himself than to the other man and he had pinched the bridge of his nose in order to keep his composure. Even though he was far from an aggressive person he would have liked to smack the insolent doctor across the face - simply for having dared to raise Maria Theresia’s hopes. And his, too. That another child had been Maria Theresia’s greatest desire everyone in the close circle around her had known, especially van Swieten, who had been very sceptical of the herbalist that Maria Theresia had called into her service for a short while in August. “It will ruin her.”

“I... do not seem to understand, Your Majesty.”

“When she will be told that she is _not_ expecting another child. It will _ruin_ her and you know it as much as I do.” He had continued to pinch the bridge of his nose as he had awaited a possible answer and when the doctor had cleared his throat, Franz Stephan had not looked at him.

“The urin test has never been wrong before, Your Majesty.”

“You labeled her infertile after the fever!” While his voice had been barely above a whisper before, it was then loud enough to resound through the antechamber and he clenched his jaw shut as he tried to get himself back under control.

“I was mistaken with my assumption, Your Majesty, for which I apologise.”

As much as he would have liked for it to be true, for them to be expecting another child, Franz Stephan had known that it would have been unnecessarily cruel to put himself, and especially his beloved wife, through a period of hope build upon false and desperate hope. “Am I allowed to see her?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” He had swiftly moved past the doctor, who had appeared rather uncomfortable in his skin, and had been about to knock at the door of Maria Theresia’s bedroom when van Swieten’s voice had reached him once again. “Your Majesty.”

Lowering his hand from where he had lifted it to knock, he had turned on the heels of his shoes to look at the physician with a look that he hoped had been as expressionless as they only could have been with the turmoil that had been going on inside of him. “What is it.”

“Her Majesty did not bleed since August and being sick without having eaten is... a decisive indication of a pregnancy, Your Majesty.”

Franz Stephan had known that he should not have been so gullible and believe the doctor’s words, but they had managed to get a figuratively grip on his throat before he could have fended them off and while a part of his mind had told him that van Swieten had to be mistaken, he had, deep down, known that the physician would not have made such a claim prematurely. “Are you certain?”

“’Tis what Her Majesty told me, Your Majesty,” the doctor had hurried to answer, nodding to underline what he had said. “Her Majesty is not only suffering from nausea, but from soreness of her breasts and abdomen as well, Your Majesty and due to my... wrong diagnosis Her Majesty did not consider that the symptoms could stand in any relation to each other. I will resign from my position in an instant if I happen to be, once more, mistaken, Your Majesty.” Van Swieten had bowed as deep as he could have done it without appearing ridiculous and while Franz Stephan still had not been able to understand instead of merely perceive what he had been told, he had nodded before he had blindly raised his hand to knock at the door.

“You may enter,” Maria Theresia’s voice had granted him access and he had exhaled quite unsteadily as he had opened the door to enter his wife’s bedroom. Maria Theresia had been leaned against a stack of pillows, a position that Franz Stephan had seen her in too many times, and he had felt his heart somersault in his chest when he had spotted the small smile on her face and the way that her hands had been folded on her stomach.

_“That Her Majesty is pregnant, Your Majesty.”_

_“Her Majesty did not bleed since August and being sick without having eaten is... a decisive indication of a pregnancy, Your Majesty.”_

“How are you?”

“A bit better,” she had answered, her smile slowly fading as she straightened a crease out of the brocade blanket that she had been covered with and Franz Stephan had not needed to ask in order to know that she must had been absolutely shaken to her core by the news that her private physician had brought to them. With his heart still beating strong enough for him to feel it in his throat, Franz Stephan had sat down at the edge of her bed and had cradled one of her hands into both of his, bringing it up to kiss its back. Maria Theresia had dismissed the pair of chambermaids, which had been waiting for an order, with a wave of her free hand and it had only been once they had been gone that she had spoken. “He told me that I am pregnant, François.”

“I know, he told me as well,” Franz Stephan had answered, kissing the back of her hand yet again while directing his gaze to her face. “A miracle, is it not?”

“It certainly is.” The smile on her face had turned a bit too strained and he had looked down at her hand and upon lifting his gaze, he had not been surprised to see the tears that had blurred the blue of Maria Theresia’s eyes, had only felt a stab in his chest when one of them had freed itself to claim its path down her face. “I should be happy, should I not?” Franz Stephan had needed to close his eyes for a second at the sound of a sob building up inside of her. “I should be happy, François...”

He had squeezed her hand, “I know,” he had whispered and had lowered his head as she had tried to suppress the choking sobs.

“I should be happy but all I-I can think about is when I will lose it.”

When she had pulled her hand back to fold her hands in her lap, Franz Stephan had no longer been able to simply sat by and he had felt his own eyes filling up as he had laid his arms around his wife to pull her against his chest. It had been quite circuitously and an uncomfortable position for the both of them, but Franz Stephan had not complained about it when Maria Theresia’s hands had clung onto the back of his jacket. “It will be alright,” he had whispered into her hair while she had cried into his chest, running a hand over her back and leaning his cheek against her head. If only he would have been able to do anything that could help her. He had kissed the top of Maria Theresia’s head before he had nuzzled his face into her hair, sighing when the first tear had escaped his eyes as well. “It will be alright, Theresia. We will be alright.”

“I am so scared,” she had merely sobbed, “I am so scared.”

“I know, my love. I know.” Franz Stephan had held her until she had pulled away to return onto her mountain of pillows and he had managed to force himself to smile a bit as he had wiped at the wetness on her face. “We will be alright, Theresia,” he had assured her once more. “Whatever may come, we will be alright.”

“I... did not believe him when he told me,” Maria Theresia had spoken with a low voice and had lowered her head to watch where her fingers had been absentmindedly fidgeting with the brocade blanket in her lap, “and I still cannot believe it.” Franz Stephan had nodded and before he could have answered, she had went on. “I refused to believe it, I-I told him that I would dismiss him from his service if he is mistaken but...”, Maria Theresia had exhaled shakingly, “the tests proved him right.”

Changing the position that he had been sitting with which on the bed, Franz Stephan had found himself unable to find the right words to answer with. That the tests had never failed upon them had been correct, but how could he tell her that he had believed it too good to be true? That he failed to believe that they had tried for seven heartbreaking years only to find out about their success because she threw up during dinner? He had thus merely laid his hand on top of hers and during the few moments of silence that had passed between them had let it rest there. “Do you believe him, Theresia? Do you think that it is true, that you are with a child?”

“My breasts are unusually sore and... my last bleeding was in July.”

“July?”

She had nodded once, “When I did not bleed in August I thought that it was due to the medication.” _August_. Could it be that their first love-making in years had brought them to where they had been then? With what he had known of pregnancies, he had already came to the conclusion that it must have happened during that evening and his hand had wandered to her stomach without him having really noticed it. He had only snapped out of his thoughts at the low, but sharp intake of breath that had come from Maria Theresia in return. “No,” she had whispered as he had motioned to remove his hand and it had been his turn to let out a nonverbal sound when she had taken his arm by the wrists to pull his hand to where it had laid before. “Could you keep it there? Just... for a bit.”

Their gazes met and the smile that had grown on Franz Stephan’s face in response had been a honest one, despite the tears which yet had to ebb away. “I would like so very much, Theresia.” Out of the corner of his eye he had perceived something that Franz Stephan had deliberately tried not to look at. Joseph’s bassinet, a true masterpiece of gilded wood. He had never thought about asking his wife why she had kept the bassinet at her bedside and neither had he ever asked her as for why she had chosen her bedroom for the extraordinarily large painting to be hung onto the wall - the bassinet as well as the painting had, in his eyes, acted as nothing but painful reminders of the fact that Joseph had been the only one of their four children that they had been able to hold in their arms.

Something inside Franz Stephan’s chest had clenched when Maria Theresia had rested her hands on top of his, her gentle fingers running invisible circles on his skin. “François?”

“Yes, my love.”

She had taken a few moments to answer, “I am scared.”

Not minding that it had been a mere repetition of what she had said before, Franz Stephan had nodded. “I know,” he had answered, “I am, too.” He had tried not to imagine having to attend the another funeral, had tried not to think about how hard it had been to have four little bronze sarcophagi planned according to their wishes. _Their wishes, ha as if._ It had never been their wish to be forced to bury any of their children. “If I am to lose it,” Maria Theresia had then said, and it had been enough to cause a shiver to run up his spine, “I pray that it will be soon.”

“Theresia...” He had cleared his throat, but it would have been a lie if he would have said that he had not understood why she had thought so. Once the child would grow, and she would be able to feel it moving inside of her, its death would only be so much harder upon the both of them. Franz Stephan had not known how he had ought to answer to his wife’s confession and so he had closed his eyes as he had focused on the feeling of Maria Theresia’s soft stomach underneath his hand. Seven years had passed since he had last felt a child of his moving inside of her and while he had known that there had been a small life growing inside if her in that very moment, the hopes of ever getting to feel the same movements again had been vanishingly small.

“We must not tell anyone,” she had went on and by the sound of her voice, Franz Stephan had easily been able to tell that she had been on the verge of another breakdown into tears. “It is for the better.” He had nodded again, if it had been what she had desired he would not try and argue with her about it. “I am sorry, François. I am so sorry.”

“Hush.” He had leaned over to kiss her forehead, his lips lingering, “I told you that I never blamed you.”

Maria Theresia had sniffled once and it had been only then that he had noticed how she had been pratically clinging onto his forearm. No, it had not been easy for either of them. “Would you go and tell Swieten to come and see me?”

“Why?”

“I wish to... talk to him.”

“Of course, my love. I will be right back.”

“Thank you.”

He had managed a somewhat convincing smile and had waited until her hands had losened from around his forearm before he had stood from the bed. _What have we done to deserve it all._ Franz Stephan had been lucky - the court physician had still been sitting, and waiting, in the antechamber as he had opened the door of the bedroom. “She wishes to speak to you.”

“Your Majesty.” Gerard van Swieten had hurried to stand from where he had been sitting, to acknowledge what Franz Stephan had said with a nod and to enter Maria Theresia’s bedroom. Whether the physician had heard what he and his wife had said, Franz Stephan had not wasted a second thought about. If anyone had known about the sorrows of their unfulfilled desire to have children, it had been the doctor. “Your Majesty.” He had kept himself rather in the background as Gerard van Swieten had come to stand at the foot of Maria Theresia’s bed and had greeted the empress dutifully.

“We did not yet talk about what can be done about the symptoms.” It had been unmistakable that Maria Theresia had tried to keep her composure upright, but Franz Stephan had not missed the tremble in her voice and the way that she had refused to look directly at the court physician.

“Yes of course, Your Majesty.” The doctor had cleared his throat, “I would suggest a soup for the nausea, Your Majesty. Chicken, preferrable, which will not be too heavy.”

“I will make sure that the kitchen will be notified,” Franz Stephan had answered and the doctor had turned to nod into his direction.

“I would strongly advise for Your Majesty to return to the city as soon as it is possible.”

“The court is due to move in a week,” he had spoken yet again, “is it not soon enough?”

“If there should be another... emergency, Your Majesty, and Her Majesty should require my service, the Hofburg would be a much more adequate place.”

“What do you say, François?”

“What?”

“What do you say, what is your opinion.”

While he had appreciated the fact that Maria Theresia had remembered how much he had always enjoyed their time in Schönbrunn, mostly at least, Franz Stephan had been in disbelief that she had apparently thought that he would decide against van Swieten’s advise. “If it is the best thing for your health I agree with Monsieur van Swieten, Theresia.” _For your health and for the life of our child, my love._ He had kept quiet while his wife and the court physician had talked on for a few more minutes, mostly about what else could be done for the soreness of her breasts and the nausea and Gerard van Swieten had dutifully bid Maria Theresia and him a restful night before he had let. “Chicken soup does not sound too unpleasant,” Franz Stephan had said in an attempt to lift his wife’s spirit as he had unbuttoned his waistcoat after having shrugged his jacket off and his words had the wished effect: Maria Theresia had snorted and had shifted in her position on the pillows.

“Yes, there could be worse things. Though I am not very excited to be served soup as my daily breakfast.”

It had been his turn to chuckle and he had made sure to lay both his jacket and his waistcoat over the back of a decorative chair before he began to work on the buttons of his shirt. There had been no way that he would leave his beloved wife alone for the night, not after they had received such unsettling news. “You will be in my thoughts,” he had chirped, “while I will be enjoying my treats.”

“Oh shut it, François.”

“Pardon?” She had merely chuckled and the ache in his heart had been a bit less burning when he had heared it. No matter what the near future would bring - he had, deep down, known that they would be alright. They had managed to live through so much and Franz Stephan knew that he ought to be the stronghold for the woman that he loved. “You must talk to Joseph,” he had said as he had, dressed in no more than his undershirt and underwear, slipped underneath the covers on the free side of Maria Theresia’s bed.

“Hm?”

He had let out a small sigh of contentment as his head had came to rest on the feathery soft of a pillow, allowing his eyes to stay closed for a bit. “I do not know where he got the idea from, Theresia, but he somehow believes that you wish for another child because you no longer want him.”

Maria Theresia had gasped, and it had been a honest one. “ _What?_ ”

He had nodded, “ _I know that Mama wants to have another child_ is what he told me before dinner. _Is it because she no longer wants me?_ My God, I did not know what else to do than to reassure him of your love.”

“What?”, she had merely repeated, her question carried by her breath and when Franz Stephan had looked at her, he had found her face white with unmasked shock. “Oh, what a failure of a mother I am.” Maria Theresia had been about to hide her face behind her hands, most likely to hide the fact that unshed tears had been shining in her eyes once again but Franz Stephan had hindered her from doing so by taking a hold of her wrist.

“Stop it, Theresia.”

“What did I do to make him think that I no longer want him? That I want to _replace_ him? Am I not paying him enough attention or-”

“Hush, it is none of it. Joseph is a young boy and he does not understand why his mother is crying during the evenings. It is not your fault.”

“Where is he?”

Franz Stephan had raised a hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling up at her. “He fell asleep in my arms. When I told him that you were sick because you ate too much of your favorite chocolates, he thought it to be most funny.”

“How I love that boy...”

“I do, too.” Their hands had found each other blindly, rather on their own accord, and when she had squeezed his hand, he had felt a surge of love shooting through him. God, how much he loved her still. “I love you.”

“And I love you, François.”

“Whatever is going to happen... we will get through it.”

A part of him yet had to heal from the accusation that not only Maria Theresia had thrown at him, but other members of their court as well - that he had been engaged in an affair with that damned Maria Wilhelmina von Auersperg. He had not known if he had ever hated a woman as much as he had hated her and if it would have been as easy to banish her from court as it had been to say it, he would have done so in an instant. “There is no other choice. I do not want Joseph to lose his childhood because we leave him too soon.”

“It will not happen, my love. You ought to stop thinking about it.” There had not been a reason as for why he should have told her that he had been absolutely terrified of eventually being forced to live on without her, of having to explain to their son as for why he would not be able to see his mother again. The sickness that had burned through her body and had killed their second son all those years ago had shown him just how close he had come to losing her; he had been very much aware that he would have been utterly lost without her. Silence had returned to hover above her and Franz Stephan had closed his eyes to wait for sleep to claim him when he had perceived a sound that could have been a choked sob, causing him to be alert from one second to another. “My love?” Maria Theresia had not been crying, but her body had been trembling a bit as she had looked down to where her free hand had been resting on her stomach. “Is there-”

“Oh, I am alright,” she had interrupted him and had let out a sound similar to the one that had alarmed Franz Stephan, “I just... I cannot stop wondering when it will happen. I am so scared of waking up tomorrow to find it...”

“Come here.” He had softly clicked his tongue and had let go of her hand only to take a hold of one of the many pillows which she had been resting on, “Lie down and come here.”

Maria Theresia had not tried to argue, had merely sat up just enough to enable him to pull the pillows out from underneath her back and Franz Stephan had not needed to offer the embrace a second time, for she had moved closer to him as soon as she had been lying flat. Her back had fit perfectly against his chest and she had tucked her head underneath his chin while he had wrapped an arm around her to pull her even closer, both letting out an unison sound of contentedness. “I thought that we would have another week in Schönbrunn,” Maria Theresia had said after a few moments of silence had passed between them and Franz Stephan had kissed the top of her head as he had muttered his answer.

“I does not matter, my love. It is the doctor’s advice so we will follow it accordingly.” She had sighed, “I must explain to Joseph that I will not be able to go for a ride with him tomorrow like I promised I would.”

“He will understand it if you tell him, Theresia. He is a very clever boy.”

“Just like his father.”

“Even more so like his mother.” They had both chuckled, their laughter ebbing down as his hand found its way to her stomach, where he had unwittingly splayed it. “We will be alright,” he had whispered. “I love you.” Maria Theresia had fallen asleep in his arms that night, long before he had managed to find sleep himself. Franz Stephan had not managed to stop his mind from breaking itself over the change that had come upon their life in the last... hour, change that he had yearned for and yet had been utterly overwhelmed by. Pregnant. Careful, to ensure that it would not cause her to wake up, he had moved the fingers of the hand that he had splayed on her stomach in gentle circles over the fabric of her nightshirt as he had recalled the memories of how the movements of his children had felt against his palm, how his heart had alway somersaulted when Maria Theresia had rather jokingly complained about how the kicking had annoyed her to no end. If he would have known just how precious those moments had been, he would have appreciated them more than he had done it and the fact that no one had been able to tell him whether he would ever be able to hold the child that his wife had been carrying had pushed unwanted tears into Franz Stephan’s eyes.

He had continued to run his fingers in invisible circles, squeezing his eyes shut as he had done - the last thing that he had wanted had been to cry and wake Maria Theresia up. She had been in dire need of a good night’s sleep, the circles under her eyes had made it unmistakably clear just as they had made him wonder about how long she had experienced the discomfort. That she had not told him had been of no real surprise to him; Maria Theresia had always wanted to protect him, no matter how great her suffering would be because of it. Franz Stephan had muttered a quiet prayer for his children, deceased as well as living, while laying his palm flat against his wife’s stomach. If he still had hope? The flame had been burning low but yet much brighter than Maria Theresia’s. If he still believed in the good and forgiving God? No. He had not lost his fate, of course, but he had no longer believed any of the sermons that the priest would read out. How could Franz Stephan believe in a _good and forgiving_ God if said God had taken more from him than he had thought he could ever lose? Their situation had been cruel and unfair, for they had deserved anything but the suffering that they had been forced to go through. How long it had taken Franz Stephan until he had eventually fell into Morpheus’ arms, he had not known, only coming back to his senses when the light of the morning sun had warmed his face.

It had not been the sun that had woken him, however, but the sound of someone heaving up the content of their stomach in the adjoining room. Franz Stephan had shot up into a sitting position within an instant, listening, with a racing heart, how multiple pair of feet had moved around while muffled voices and the suppressed sound of gagging had reached through to him. Even if the space on the bed beside him would not have been empty he would have known that it was Maria Theresia who had been sick in the other room, and he had cringed at the sound of yet another series of gags. Trying to blend the stomach-turning sounds out, Franz Stephan had slid out of bed and into the morning robe that had been laid out for him by what had to be one of Maria Theresia’s chambermaids. He had hesitated whether to look after his wife, for he had guessed that she would most likely not be seen by him in her current situation. So instead of joining her Franz Stephan had sat down onto the edge of the bed, had clenched his hands together and had waited for whatever had been to come next.

As it had turned out he had not needed to wait as long as he had prepared himself for; not more than a minute had passed before the door to the adjoining room had been opened and a chambermaid had stepped out, carrying a chamber pot. She had stopped in her tracks when she had seen him, “Your Majesty,” she had greeted him, bowing as much as the pot in her arms had allowed her to do it and Franz Stephan had acknowledged it with a sharp nod of his head. He had watched her hurry off, well aware of the contents of the chamber pot, before he had stood and had walked over towards the opened door to peak inside. Maria Theresia had been slumped rather than sitting on a stool, her head leaned back and her eyes closed as another chambermaid had gently moved a cloth over the area of her mouth. God, she had looked absolutely exhausted and Franz Stephan had wondered, with an uneasy feeling, for how long she had already been awake. He had continued to stand on the swell of the door as he had watched the silent scene in front of him, had watched how the chambermaid had wrung the cloth in the water before she had applied it to Maria Theresia’s face once more and since his wife had not opened her eyes, he had been certain that she had not noticed him. “All done, Your Majesty,” the chambermaid had eventually said with a low voice and Maria Theresia had only stirred after a few seconds, so as if she had been no longer been fully awake.

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else that I ought to do, Your Majesty?”

Franz Stephan had allowed himself to smile a bit when Maria Theresia had not yet opened her eyes, if he would not have felt so sorry for her it would have been an endearing sight. She had made a waving motion with her hand, “No, no. You may leave.”

“Your Majesty.” The chambermaid had heaved the basin up from the floor and had bowed into Maria Theresia’s direction before having done the same with Franz Stephan. “Your Majesty.”

He had stepped aside to allow the maid to pass through, his smile widening when Maria Theresia had opened her eyes from one split of a second to another. “Good morning, my love.”

“François.” She had stood from the stool and Franz Stephan had felt a surge of uneasiness as he had seen how unsteady she had appeared on her feet. “I did not wake you, did I?”

“And even if you did it would have been alright,” he had answered with a rather low voice as he had hurried to get to her side, fearing that she simply would have fell over if it would not have been for his arm around her waist. Franz Stephan had kissed the top of her head after she had let her head sink against his chest with an exhausted sigh.

“It has never been so bad before.”

“The sickness?”

She had nodded, “I woke up shortly after half past five and it has been going on ever since.”

“Oh, my poor love...” A humming sound of agreement had followed and Maria Theresia had fully rested her weight againt Franz Stephan, who had accepted it without a word of complaint. “When did it started? I have been meaning to ask you about it.”

“I... do not really know. The sickness? A week, maybe. My breast have been sore for longer.”

“You did not tell me, Theresia.”

She had pulled back to be able to look at him and her eyes, despite the dark circles, had been soft. “I did not want to worry you.”

Even though he had already known that she would reason with her intention to not alarm him, to _protect_ him, it had still annoyed him somewhat. Had it been so hard for her to understand that he would worry about the woman that he loved regardless? “I know,” had been all that he had answered, smiling down at her. “Can you promise that you will tell me from now on?”

To imagine that she might take it onto her own shoulders if she should lose the child had been an absolute the most horrible thing that he could have imagined in that very moment, and he had to swallow when Maria Theresia had looked up at him while nestling against his chest once more. “I promise.”

“Thank you. I worry about you, my love. Constantly so.” Franz Stephan had left his wife’s room in order to get dressed after his valet had noticed him that it had been time for breakfast and that Joseph had asked about his parents, and it had taken him no more than a quarter of an hour until he had been fully dressed, powdered and on his way to the dining hall. Wilhelm had been right, Joseph had already been seated at the lavishly set-up breakfast table and Franz Stephan had needed to smile - his son had seemed so small amidst the large and pompous interor. “Good morning.” He had expected the boy to jump from his chair and rush over towards him like he had done it daily, but Joseph had merely answered with an almost whispered “Good morning” and had continued to look down at the table in front of him. Franz Stephan’s brows had pulled together, though he had not commented on it as he had sat down in his chair and had beckoned a servant over to fill his cup with coffee. He had eyes his son out of the corners of his eyes. The boy had seemed as downcasted as he had rarely ever seen him before and while the sad look on Joseph’s face had worried him deeply, he had not known how to address it.

“Mon petit!” Before he had the time to lose himself in his brooding thoughts, the double-winged door had been pushed open and Maria Theresia had entered. Dressed in a light blue dress, powdered and wearing a wig she had looked nothing like when he had left her in her private rooms. She had made her way over to Joseph, had taken his face into her hands to kiss each of his chubby cheeks and the boy’s eyes had been wide as he had looked up at his mother. “How are you, mon cœr?” Instead of answering, Joseph had leaned back so that his face had slipped out of Maria Theresia’s hands and had wrapped his arms around himself. Franz Stephan had merely swallowed hard when his wife had looked at him from over her shoulder with an unreadable expression, it had seemed that neither of them had forgotten what their son had told him the day before. Joseph’s eyes had been filled with tears as Maria Theresia had pushed his chair back to be able to crouch down in front of him. “ _Dis moi ce qui est dans ton coeur_ ,” she had said with a low, soft voice and had cradled their son’s face once again to stroke his cheeks. “What is it, my love?”

Franz Stephan had watched how the first set of tears had escaped Joseph’s eyes, silent tears that Maria Theresia had wiped away and he had felt a stab of sadness when the boy had downright threw himself against his mother to wrap his arms around her neck, letting out a choked sob. “T-They said that yo-ou are sick again,” Joseph had sobbed and Franz Stephan had drew in a sharp breath - he should have known. Oh, he should have known. “Are y-you going to d-die, Mama? Are you?”

While he had not seen Maria Theresia’s face, he had known that a grief-struck had tugged at her lineaments and his heart had been beating hard enough for it to be on the verge of painful when she had lowered her head to whisper something into Joseph’s ear. He had not understood it, but whatever it had been had managed to convince the boy to pull back and look up at her with a tear-streaked face. “It is nothing that you must worry about, my love. I will be just fine,” Maria Theresia had muttered. “Papa told you that I ate too many chocolates, did he not?” Joseph had dared a quick look at Franz Stephan before he had nodded, appearing as miserable as he only could have been in that moment. “See, my love? I promise that I will be fine in no time.” She had leaned over to kiss his forehead and Franz Stephan had nearly gasped at the sight of his son’s wide, tear-filled and vulnerable eyes. They had gravely underestimated how much the boy had gotten of their situation. “Now dry your tears, mon petit,” Maria Theresia had said, affectionately running her fingers through his head of curls, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” the boy had whispered in return and the look on his face had indeed been less devestated as Maria Theresia had raised into an upright position to take her seat opposite from Franz Stephan. She had groaned silently when she had looked at the small soup pot that had been placed on a heated plate in front of her.

“I though that you like soup,” Franz Stephan had asked her with just the slightest teasing tone underlining his words and he had laughed out loud at the look he had received.

“I do, but never for breakfast.”

“Soup?”, Joseph’s quiet voice had asked, “Why are you having soup now, Mama?”

“It is on the doctor’s order, mon petit, so that I will feel better.”

“Oh.”

While Franz Stephan had cut a Powidltascherl into half, Maria Theresia had lifted the top off the pot and had pulled a grimace. He had felt a bit bad as he had poured the vanilla cream sauce over the Powidltascherl when all that had been on his wife’s plate had been the clear soup. Maria Theresia, however, had not complained as she had picked up her spoon and had begun to eat - if it would indeed be the only thing that could relief her of the nausea, he could have understood as for why she had not let out a single word of grievance.

“Mama?”

Her smile had been a honest one as she had looked up from her plate over to Joseph, who had been happily eating away at a baked treat. “Yes, mon cœr.”

“Will you go riding with me?”

Franz Stephan turned his head into Maria Theresia’s direction just as his wife had looked at him as well, their gazes meeting and keeping each other for a few short seconds. “I fear that I will not be able to, my love. I apologise.”

“Oh.” The boy’s shoulders had sacked and Franz Stephan had known that Joseph had been excited for the afternoon. “But you promised...”

“I know that I did, my love, and I am very sorry that I have to break the promise that I made.”

He had been perfectly able to see how much his wife had regretted it even if the decision had been one that she had been forced to make for her health as well as the potential life of the child that she had been carrying in silence. “We will return to Vienna at noon,” Franz Stephan had answered as Maria Theresia had not, making sure that his voice had lacked any bite whatsoever and Joseph’s eyes had widened a bit as the boy had looked at him.

“Today?”

“Yes, son. The doctor said that it will be the best for your mother’s health.”

“Oh,” had been all that the boy had answered by given the tone that he had said it with, Franz Stephan had known that he had understood. “I will make it up to you, mon petit.” The remainder of their shared mealtime had gone by without any incidents. Maria Theresia’s face had gained a bit more colour after she had finished her soup and when she had leaned back into her chair, with her hands folded on her not yet showing stomach, he had felt the tension in his chest which he had known had been triggered by his love for her.

Since their departure had happened rather abruptly, their belongings would be brought to Vienna once the servants would have finished packing them up and loading them onto a carriage. Franz Stephan had stayed with his wife after breakfast, had accompanied her to her rooms while their son had been taken care of pair a pair of nursemaids. “Did you see his face when I told him? Oh François, it is no wonder that he is thinking that I wish to replace him. I am a terrible mother, terrible!”

He had clicked his tongue as he had drawn her into an embrace, “Hush. You are anything but a terrible mother. He is a clever boy, he will understand that you had no other choice but to leave today.”

“But he is just that, a boy.”

“Theresia...”

When she had merely let out a sigh and had turned her face into his chest, Franz Stephan had been assured that it had been her brooding thoughts that had taken a toll on her. “We must make sure that he is alright,” Maria Theresia had whispered after a few moments of silence, tightening her arms around Franz Stephan’s waist. “He is everything that we still have.”

 _Oh, he had never forgotten about it._ “I know, I know.”

It had taken a while until she had caught herself again but he had not commented on it, aware that it would not have happened if she would not have been already shaken to her core by the pregnancy and its symptoms, and they had waited in Maria Theresia’s apartment until a guard had notified them that the carriage had been ready for them. Arm in arm Franz Stephan and his beloved wife had walked through the palace which, despite the hustling and bustling that had been going on, had been reigned by a silence that he had never succeeded to blend out of his consciousness. How many times he had imagined and dreamed it to be filled with the sound of his children’s laughter and their footsteps, with happiness instead of grief - he had hoped, had been desperate, really, that the stay at the Hofburg would calm him but with the most recent developments Franz Stephan had been anxious rather than excited. _God, I beg you. Let us keep this child if it is the last favour that you_ _will grace us with._ It had been on his demand that he and Maria Theresia were to ride in the same carriage, other than the way that it had been set by court protocol, and he had helped his wife up the stairs of the carriage by offering her his arms to hold onto for support.

“What are you reading, mon petit?”

Franz Stephan had realised that she had been talking to their son before he could have grown confused and indeed, Joseph had already been sitting on the bench opposite of theirs, a book in his hands. The boy had not appeared to have been as happy to see his mother as he usually would have been, for he had merely looked up from the book for a second before he had resumed to read, not answering Maria Theresia’s question. “Your mother asked you something, Joseph.” Franz Stephan had not spoken with an especially strong bite but it had still been enough to make his son flinch.

“About the Romans,” the boy had hurried to answer and when Maria Theresia had blindly searched, and had found, his hand to squeeze it, Franz Stephan had known that she had worried about their son’s behaviour. He had hoped that he had been able to tell her, by squeezing her hand as well, that her fear of being a bad mother had been uncalled for.

Maria Theresia had silently cleared her throat before she had spoken again. “Is it enjoyable?”

“It is,” Joseph had retorted, his voice barely above a whisper and the boy had returned to reading as soon as he had answered. Franz Stephan had let him be, had decided that it would not do any good if he were to force a conversation with his son. It had been moments like these that had shown him just how introverted and downright shy the boy had been, something that had worried him only in regards to Joseph’s future. The animals that had been wreaking havoc in European politics could easily tear him apart once his time to step up would be there. His thoughts had busied him so that he had only noticed the fact that they had since set into motion when Maria Theresia had asked their son whether he had been alright with sitting backwards or not. Joseph had claimed that he had been alright and since he had firmly kept his gaze at the book in his hand, he had missed how his mother had smiled at him with nothing but unmasked love in her eyes.

The return to the Hofburg had been less spectacular than Franz Stephan had expected it to be, and he would only afterwards realize that it had been just what he had needed. Since they had returned a week earlier than it had been planned, no evening celebrations had been held - which had enabled Maria Theresia and him to spend the afternoon and the evening hours in togetherness or in the presence of their only child. Franz Stephan’s heart had grown warm when he had been sitting in his wife’s private tea room, with Maria Theresia by his side and Joseph curled up in an armchair at the far wall. He had nursed a cup of coffee in one hand while his other had been loosely resing on Maria Theresia’s thigh and his beloved wife had, other than the past few days, seemed to have been in relatively peace. “How are you feeling, my love?”

It had been at his question that she had looked up from the book that she had been reading, and the smile that she had offered him had managed to ease his worries, even if it had been for the very moment only. “I am alright,” Maria Theresia had answered, lowering her gaze to where she had been unconsciously resting her free hand on her stomach before she had met his gaze once more. He had returned the smile and had, without taking his eyes off her face, moved his hand until it had laid on top of hers.

Franz Stephan had been about to ask if she had felt any symptoms of her pregnancy, but had discarded the idea when he had had noticed how Joseph had been looking over to them. “I am glad.”

Their son had wrapped himself into a blanket and had, due to his small size, fit perfectly onto the seat of the armchair, the book that he had been reading earlier that day in the carriage propped up on his crossed legs. Even though it had been satisfying for Franz Stephan to see that his son had favoured reading over usual childish games, that Joseph had been a rather calm child, he had bad for not having granted his son the opportunity to grow up with a sibling. The memories of the times that he had spend with his older brother, Leopold, had been very precious one; Franz Stephan had still remembered just how good it had been to have another child around him. He had closed his eyes for a long moment as he had concentrated onto the feeling of Maria Theresia’s stomach underneath his hands. Another child had been what that had both yearned for, desperately so, and the fear of his wife losing the child she had been with had locked his heart in an iron cage of fear. Neither of them had expected that it would happen - but they had both expected a devestating outcome that would break them down. A sudden wave of an entire mixture of emotions had swept over Franz Stephan as he had sat in his armchair and he had needed to set his cup down onto the small side table, for the trembling in his hands had become noticeable.

Maria Theresia had not seemed to have noticed it, thankfully so, and Franz Stephan had swallowed down his too-tight throat. The image of the three little sarcophagi had been howering in front of his inner eye as if to remind him of what he had lost in case he had forgotten... as if he ever could have forgotten when his children had been all that he had thought about in his moments of privacy. He had risen to his feet before he had even realised it and he had walked over to where his son was sitting, not hearing the sound of surprise his wife had made. Squatting down in front of Joseph, Franz Stephan had taken the boy’s face into his hand to kiss his forehead. He had squeezed his eyes shut as he had dragged out the gesture as much as he could have done it and when his son had wrapped his arms around his neck to nestle against him, he had needed to fight against the urge to give in to the tears that he had felt burning behind his eyes. “I love you,” Franz Stephan had whispered and even though the position that he had crouched in had been anything but comfortable, he had stayed in the position to embrace Joseph. _No matter what is to come_ , had crossed his mind in that moment, _he would still have his son_. It had been the thought that he had held on in the weeks to come: he would still have Joseph, no matter in what end Maria Theresia’s pregnancy would result in.

Keeping a relatively distance had been easier than it had been during their stay in Schönbrunn. Maria Theresia had not neglected her duties despite her circumstances, had spend entire days surrounded by ministers, councelors and Gerard van Swieten, latter who had almost refused to leave her side, while Franz Stephan would take care of the finances, his various collections and their son as good as he only could. The one thing that he and his wife had not spoken about had been sharing an apartment again; Maria Theresia would come and see him in his bedroom nearly every night and Franz Stephan would, without mentioning it, lay out another stack of pillows beside his own. There had been no mistaking in the fact that they had grown closer since van Swieten had unbosomed the news to them and while it should have made him happy, Franz Stephan had all so often thought about how far they had drifted apart for them to reunite in such a manner. Keeping his distance from the uncertainty of the pregnancy by working and paying more attention to his son had been easy - until November had shifted into December and Maria Theresia’s stomach had begun to show the tale-telling curve caused by a child growing inside of her. _His child_.

While it would have been adequate for him to do so, he had not managed to join his wife’s side during the time that she had spend praying in the Hofburgkapelle, had not managed to force himself to beg God for his child’s life when it had been the same God that had shown just how cruel he had been by taking the life of three of his four children. That Maria Theresia had been clinging onto her faith he had known and had, after a long talk with the court physician, not tried to change her mind. “It gives her strength, Your Majesty,” Gerard van Swieten had told him as they had ambled through the corridors of the Hofburg, “and I believe that it is of uttermost important for her to have her faith. It will offer relief for her worries, Your Majesty.”

“I do not seem to understand how it can be of any importance.”

“It will lower the risk of harm being done to the child, Your Majesty.”

Franz Stephan had let her be, of course, had made sure to not let his disdain be known and despite all the worry that had dominated his mind, he had not overseen how beautifully Maria Theresia had carried her pregnancy. It had been far from an easy time, not as careless as it had been a decade ago when she had been pregnant with Maria Anna but her face had no longer been ruined by lines of worry and fear as Franz Stephan had been forced to see it during her pregnancy with Joseph. His heart had somersaulted every time that he had seen her holding her folded hands over the curve of her stomach, which had been anything but concealed by the dresses that she had worn, every time that he had noticed just how much she had been _glowing_. Yes, glowing had been just what Maria Theresia had been doing. Due to the various treatments that she had forced herself to undergo in order to increase her fertility, she had lost a bigger amount of weight than it had been healthy for her to do and with the pregnancy, her appetite had returned. Franz Stephan had never thought that he would ever be glad to be woken up during godless hours because his wife had a craving for chocolates - but it would have been a lie if he would have said that seeing his beloved Maria Theresia’s face lit up with a smile after he would have spend a good twenty minutes finding the sweets she had liked had not made him happy, and every tired minute worth it afterwards.

Franz Stephan did not feel very happy, however, as he walked up the main staircase, wrapped in his morning robe and carrying a plate stacked woth sweets. Given the time of night, the corridors of the Hofburg had been empty except for the guards that had stood on their posts and if some of them looked at him with bafflement, he swiftly ignored it and even though he was exhausted, a smile spread out on his face when he opened the door to his bedroom.

“Did you find it?” Maria Theresia was propped up on her stack of pillows, holding her hands folded over her stomach and looking at him with expectancy.

He snorted and playfully bowed down as he showed her the plate once he had come to stand at the foot of the bed. “I hope it is to Your Majesty’s wishes.”

The laugh that she let out warmed his heart and she rewarded him with a kiss as he passed her the plate. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Theresia. Now eat.” Franz Stephan laid back down on his side of the bed while his wife picked up the first piece of chocolate-covered gingerbread, causing him to snort by letting out a sound that Franz Stephan had heard coming out of the mouths of his father’s whores. “I assume that you like it then?”

“Oh yes, but the baby loves it even more.”

He snorted again and turned his head to look at her, “What?”

She smiled down at him, chewing around a moutfull of gingerbread and swallowing before she answered. “The heartburn stopped.”

The tension in his chest intensified, _my God, how much he loved her_ , and he rolled over onto his side to be able to look at her a better. “That was rather fast.”

Maria Theresia hummed in agreement and went back to eat away at the gingerbread. He watched her, as enamoured as he only could have been at the sight of her and while he would have enjoyed a restful sleep, he did not think of taking his eyes off of her. “We ought to tell Joseph.”

“Hm?” He did not know how much time he had spend watching her, but Maria Theresia put the then empty plate onto the nightstand before she laid back down with a sigh.

“We must tell him unless you want him to hear it from someone else.”

As little as they had discussed the topic of sharing an apartment they had talked about when they would tell their son that Maria Theresia was expecting another child, and Franz Stephan needed to swallow at the prospect of what his wife had just said. “That would be...”

“Horrible, yes,” Maria Theresia finished his sentence as she moved to cuddle up against him, resting her head on his chest. “The poor boy is so sensitive, François.”

“I know.”

He kissed the top of her head and loosely wrapped an arm around her, “Do you happen to have an idea how we could tell him, my love?”

“I considered doing so during Saint Nicholas.”

“How?”

She shrugged, “I do not yet know. With a gift, maybe.”

Franz Stephan nodded even though she could not see it. “I cannot believe he feared that we would replace him.”

“We must make sure that he does not think so again, François...”

“He will not, my love. Do not worry.”


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that it took me so long to finish this chapter, it simply didn't want to be written :-|
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**December 1749**

Franz Stephan had gone after Maria Theresia’s suggestion of finding a gift that Joseph ought to be given on Saint Nicholas’ day. If he would have been honest with himself he would have needed to confess to himself that he had not been as comfortable as he should have been about revealing Maria Theresia’s pregnancy to their son. Upon being asked Franz Stephan would not have been able to tell what the exact reason for his uneasiness about the prospect had been, it must had been less due to a specific reason than his intuition and while he would have preferred to not tell his son just now, he had known that it would have been impossible to keep it hidden from the boy for much longer. Maria Theresia’s stomach had been growing constantly and the people around them had begun to _talk_ , and unless they had been eager for Joseph to find out through a chambermaid or a chattering courtier Franz Stephan had needed to go through with the vague plan that he and his wife had come up with during one of Maria Theresia’s late-night meals.

He had found a present which he had believed to be the fitting one, had made sure that it would be added to the stack of presents that had accumulated along the way and Franz Stephan had not even tried to banish the excited smile from his face when he and Maria Theresia had taken it onto themselves to position the many wrapped boxes in front of the fireplace of Joseph’s antechamber.

“It certainly is a bit much, do you not think so?”

With a small sound of agreement he had risen from where he had squatted down and had turned around to look at his wife, who had been sitting, wrapped in her morning robe, on a canapé at the far wall behind him but instead of answering, he had hurried to close his mouth. _It would hardly be so much if there would be children that Joseph would need to share his toys with_ , had been what Franz Stephan had wanted to answer with, an answer that he had discarded at practically the last second. It would have been an unfair thing to say, even more so since he had known that his beloved Maria Theresia had put the entire blame onto her own shoulders. He had chuckled, though making sure that he would not do so too loud. “They are already talking about how we are spoiling our son, so I do not see a reason as for why we should not do so.”

A smile had flashed over Maria Theresia and she had chuckled as well, shaking her head. “Loving and caring for your child as much as they deserve it is spoiling according to their views, François.”

“It is indeed,” he had retorted with a snort, “so if they judge by that, our son is a very spoiled child, my dear.” She had closed her arms around her waist once he had come to stand in front of her and he had leaned down to kiss the top of her head. The antechamber had been lit by a few mere candles; it would have been utterly senseless if they would have laid out the presents if their son would have still been out and about. “He will be happy, Theresia. I am certain of it.”

“It is not his happiness that I am worried about,” she had said with a sigh, turning her head to nestle her face against the softness of his stomach. “I know that he will be happy, he is so grateful for everything that he is given...”

Franz Stephan had not needed to ask any further, he had known just what she had tried to hint at without her having to speak it out. If Maria Theresia should lose the child it would not be them that would have a hard time trying to understand it, as they had lived through it twice already, but for Joseph. He had leaned down to kiss the top of his wife’s head once more; thinking about what he could possibly say in order to announce a miscarriage or a still birth to his son had not been what he had wanted to do. “It will be alright,” he had whispered into her hair, “whatever may happen, my love, we will be alright.”

Maria Theresia had not answered, and Franz Stephan had not forced her to. They had held onto each other for what very well could have been a couple of minutes, only letting go when Maria Theresia had pulled back. While her cheeks had not been wet with tears, her eyes had been rimmed red and he would have needed to be a blind man in order to not see how she had been fighting with herself to keep her composure from crumbling into nothing. “I hope so,” she had whispered and Franz Stephan had felt a stab of grief at the sound of her voice.

He had taken her hand, “Come, let us return to bed. You need to rest.”

The sadness behind her eyes had not disappeared, but the corners of her mouth had tugged into a short-lived smile as she had allowed him to pull her off the canapé and onto her feet. “You could use a good night’s sleep as well, François.”

He had suppressed a laugh and had only chuckled once he had closed the door of their son’s antechamber behind them. “I take it that you will not wake me up in an hour or two?”

“I cannot promise that I will not,” Maria Theresia had chirped, “if the child requires something sweet...”

“Then I will bring it to you, of course.” Franz Stephan had turned his head to smile at her, squeezing her hand that he had been holding as he had done so.

They had retreated to Maria Theresia’s bedroom and when she had snuggled against him, had pillowed her head on his chest and had muttered a quiet “I love you”, he had known that they would truly be alright, no matter the outcome of her pregnancy - even if the possibility of a fourth little sarcophagus being added to the vault of their family had torn his heart apart. Maria Theresia had already fallen asleep when he had snapped out of his thought and back into the there and then. Letting out a low, unmistakably shaky sigh Franz Stephan had tightened his arms around his sleeping wife and had turned his gaze towards the ceiling above him. If his eyes had burned as he had closed them, he had tried to ignore it. _“Mama! Mama!”_ While he had not needed to wait for long until Morpheus’ arms had greeted him, his night had turned out to be much too short. Franz Stephan and Maria Theresia had woken with an unison groan as they had heard the slam of a door followed by the excited call of “Mama! Mama!”

“Our sweet boy is out and about,” she had said with a chuckle, laughing out loud when he had groaned and had rolled over onto his side.

“He can be your _sweet son_ until the sun has risen, Theresia.” He had not been granted a choice to keep his eyes closed for more than a few seconds before the door of Maria Theresia’s bedroom had been thrown open and Joseph had come scampering into the room.

“Mama, the presents-”

Even though Franz Stephan had been tired and would have favoured another round of sleep, he had broken out into a joyous laughter when his son had looked at him with wide eyes, clearly not having expected to see him in his mother’s bedroom. Maria Theresia had shaken her head, laughing as much as he had done it as he had sat up and had opened his arms. “Come here, you little brat.”

Joseph had squealed in delight, his laughter filling out the room and the chasm in Franz Stephan’s chest. “There are so many presents!”, the boy had went on, shifting in his father’s arms so that he had been able to look at his mother. “I want to show you, Mama!”

Franz Stephan had snorted, “You only want to show your mother, I see,” and had loosened the hold he had on Joseph. “You go on and leave your old father behind.”

“François,” Maria Theresia had scolded him gently and Joseph had, instead of moving over to his mother, climbed back onto Franz Stephan’s lap and had wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.

“I love you Papa,” the boy had whispered, causing Franz Stephan’s chest to grow warm. “You’re not so old.”

He had snorted a laugh, “Thank you, son. I love you too.”

“Show us your presents, mon petit.”

With another excited squeal Joseph had hurried to scramble off the bed, his curls bouncing and his nightshirt billowing from the fastness of his movements. Franz Stephan had watched how his wife had stood from the bed, his eyes glued to where Maria Theresia’s nightdress had stretched over her stomach as she had put on her morning robe. “Papa?”

“I am coming.” Albeit more than just a bit jittery Joseph had waited until his father had been dressed enough to leave Maria Theresia’s private rooms before he had ran off, expecting his parents to follow after him. “I do wonder where he found the energy at this hour,” Franz Stephan had muttered as he and Maria Theresia had walked after their son, another joyful squeal reaching them before they had even opened the door of Joseph’s antechamber.

“Do not be such a grouch, François.”

Looking around to make sure that they had been alone in the corridor, he had slung an arm around her waist to pull her close and kiss her. “I am no grouch,” he had spoken against her lips between to kisses, “especially not to our son.” Maria Theresia had looked up at him with pinkened cheeks and her bottom lip caught between her teeth, the color on her cheeks deepening when Franz Stephan had brushed his fingers against the subtile swell of her stomach. “I love you, Theresia. Never doubt that I do.”

 _“Maaamaaa! Paaapaaa!_ ”

They had both snorted and Maria Theresia had raised onto the tips of her toes to steal a quick kiss from him, “Let us continue this... later.” At the realisation of what she had meant heat had collected in the pit of his stomach, but he had managed to push it out of his mind as his wife had lead him to their son’s room. “ _Oh bon dieu!_ ”, Maria Theresia had exclaimed, clapping her hands together in a perfect act of surprise when Joseph had shown her one of the boxes that he had picked up. “Those are a lot of presents, my love.”

“It means that I was a good boy, right Mama?”

She had kissed the top of the boy’s head, “The very best, mon petit. Now go on, open them and find out what Saint Nicholas gifted you with.”

Joseph had not needed to be told twice, he had merely allowed his mother to stroke his cheeks before he had bolted off, had run over to the fireplace and had let himself fall onto his knees so forcefully that Franz Stephan had failed to hide a wince. Oh, to be young enough for one’s knees to withstand such a thing again! He had continued to stand and watch his son open the wrapping of the first present for a few moments until Maria Theresia had beckoned him over to sit beside her on the canapé, which Franz Stephan had done without a word of complain. His heart had been beaten stronger than it would have needed to as he had, blindly so, reached out to take one of Maria Theresia’s hands into both of his, squeezing it with gentle pressure. He had been very much aware of how precious moments like these were, and how lucky he had been to, despite it all, have a small and loving family around him. He had felt his heart beating in his throat as he had fixed his entire attention onto the scene in front of him, as he had watched how Joseph had taken his time to remove the satin fabric from around the box. _Good God, what a precious boy he was._

Franz Stephan’s face had lit up with a smile when Maria Theresia had shuffled closer to cuddle up to him and he had leaned his cheek against her head, squeezing her hand once more. It had been heart-warming to see how much their son had appreciated every single one of his gifts - most of which had been books, as Joseph’s teachers had noted how eager he had been in his studies. Maria Theresia had furthermore bought the toys which she had known their son would like and while Franz Stephan had not bounced his knee where he had been sitting, it would not have been an understatement if he would have said that he could not wait to see the boy’s reaction to the gift that he had acquired for him. He had purposely placed the box containing his gift in such a way that it would be the last one that Joseph would unpack - for he nor Maria Theresia had known what his reaction to it would be.

They had both chuckled at the squel of excitement that their son let out when he had pulled a set of wooden toy soldiers out of the penultimate gift box. “Mama look, I wished for those!”

“Are you happy with them, mon petit?”

Joseph had nodded but when he had been about to open the box that had contained the soldiers, Franz Stephan had cleared his throat. “There is still a present left, son. Did you not see it?”

“Hm?” The boy had looked at his father in confusion for a short few seconds before he had whipped around towards the fireplace, letting out a sound of excitement as he had snatched up the smallest box.

“It is a present from me, Joseph.”

“Really?”

“Indeed, I hope that you like it.”

Joseph had smiled at him before he had loosened the ribbon around the dark wooden box, and it had been the boy as well as his mother who had gasped when the box had been opened. “François...”

Franz Stephan’s heart had somersaulted and he had not needed to look at Maria Theresia to be certain that she had been gaping at him, had instead watched how his son had carefully taken one of the brooches into his hand. “What is this, Papa?”

“A brooch,” he had answered, “take the other one out as well and come to me, my love.” Joseph had obeyed, and had kept his eyes on the pieces of jewlery in his hands as he had walked over to where Franz Stephan had been sitting on the canapé. Maria Theresia had sat a bit more upright to be able to take a closer look at the presents that his son had been given - Franz Stephan had not shown them to her beforehand. “Do you know what it says?”

“ _Frater antenatus_ ,” the boy had read, his wide eyes full of confusion as he had looked up at his father. “Papa, I don’t...”

“It means _older brother_ , Joseph.”

“Older brother?” Unsure whether the boy would realise what he had hinted at, Franz Stephan had waited and had watched how Joseph’s brows had pulled together, letting out a breathless laugh when his son had gasped. “Am I - will I be a big brother?”

“Yes, mon petit,” Maria Theresia had answered before Franz Stephan had the chance to and his chest had felt painfully tight at the choked sob that had escaped her. “The other one reads _fratrem iunior_ , _younger sibling_.”

“Your mother is pregnant, Joseph.”

“What?”

A tidal wave of worry had washed over him as Joseph had merely stared at them but it had turned out to be an unnecessary one as the boy, as soon as he had realized what it had meant, had broken out into a wide grin and had nearly jumped around his mother’s neck. “Mama...”

Maria Theresia’s eyes had been glistering tale-tellingly when she had closed her arms around the boy and had hugged him close. “Are you excited, my love?” Franz Stephan had let out a breath that he had not even been aware of having held in at the nod that Joseph had answered it. While he had not really believed that Joseph would fall into a tantrum, he had been worried that the boy might fall back to thinking that he would be replaced. 

“Will it be a boy or a girl?”

“We cannot tell,” Franz Stephan had retorted and had reached out to drive his fingers through his son’s curls. “We will see once the child is born.”

“When will it be born, Papa?”

“Van Swieten said that it will come between the end of May and the beginning of June, my love,” Maria Theresia had once more answered in Franz Stephan’s place, who would not have known what to answer. “You have to be patient for a bit longer.”

“June? But that’s _soooo long_.”

Franz Stephan had snorted and had repeated the gesture of stroking Joseph’s curls, “It is how long the child takes to grow.” The boy had been set back onto his feet by his mother soon after, and put the brooches back into the box that they had come in before he had returned to pay attention to his toys.

“Those are beautiful, François.” Maria Theresia had cupped his face to pull him down into a kiss, “How did you get the idea?”

“I remembered that my mother gave my brother the same ones when she found out that she was carrying me,” he had answered, taking one of his wife’s hands to kiss it’s back. “Are they...”

“No. I still have mine and... Leopold was buried with his. My mother insisted that he would be. I am glad that she did.”

She had kissed his cheek and had taken his hand like he had done it with hers. “I am sure that Joseph will cherish them.”

That he had been plagued by a sudden fear of Joseph never being able to wear the brooch, Franz Stephan had tried to banish from his mind. His attempt had been less successful than he had hoped it would be, and he had needed to swallow hard before he had managed to answer. “Let us hope so.” A shudder had went through him when Maria Theresia’s fingers had suddenly come up to caress the curls in the back of his neck and he had closed his eyes, allowing himself to give in to the moment.

“I fear that you worry even more than I do,” she had spoken with a low voice, had leaned over to haste a kiss against his cheek and had kept her hands in the back of his neck as she had addressed their son, who had busied himself with his new toys. Seeing the boy surrounded by stacks of books and toys had been an endearing sight - especially since Joseph had, despite all the attention, not turned out nearly as spoiled as the other children that had been present at court. They had been granted a few more minutes of silence before there had been a knock at the door.

Madame d’Aboville had greeted Maria Theresia with a dutiful bow and had crouched down in front of Joseph to greet him accordingly as well. The boy had always been fond of the maid that had been ordered to his service and so it had been of no real surprise to either of his parents that he had proudly showed off what Saint Nicholas had brought for him. “Those are exceptionally nice presents, Your Highness,” Madame d’Aboville had said, making the boy giggle.

“Wash and dress him,” Maria Theresia had said even though the maid’s orders had long been given out, “and bring him to breakfast as soon as it is done.”

“I will do so, Your Majesty.”

“Good. François?”

Franz Stephan had stood from the canapé as she had looked at him expectation and something in the pit of his stomach had somersaulted when she had taken his hand, leading him out of the room after telling Joseph to be good. _“Let us continue this..._ _later.”_ “Theresia, are you sure that you want to do this before breakfast?”

Her laughter had been high and carefree enough to, momentarily at least, ease the worry that had been such a heavy burden on his heart and she had pulled him into a kiss as soon as the door of her private rooms had fallen close behind them. “There is enough time.”

Franz Stephan had chuckled after she had purred those words into his ear, making her gasp by driving his hands underneath her morning robe with an unmistakable boldness. “You are unbelievable, my precious girl.”

“I am far from a girl, François.” The giggle that Maria Theresia had let out as he had pulled her along and onto his lap once he had sat down onto her bed could have proven him otherwise. He had hummed in appreciation as she had straddled his lap with a smoothness that had shown just how many times they had been in that very position. “I love you.”

With her face hovering above him, he had been able to admire the sheer beauty that had radiated off her and Maria Theresia had gasped yet again when he had brought a hand up to run his fingers up the side of her neck until he had been able to cup it against her cheek. “And you know that there is nothing that I love more than I love you, Theresia.” The strain in his underwear had no longer could have been ignored as they had kissed and Maria Theresia had pushed herself down against his lap. His desire for her had not ebbed down, even with her being under special circumstances and the growl that had escaped his throat had been fuelled by the surge of possessiveness that had flooded him when he had placed his free hand over the swell of her stomach. The curve had still been subtile enough to fit perfectly into his palm and Franz Stephan had known that he would not have been able to feel desire of the same nature for her if it would have been bigger - it would have been terribly selfish if he would have expected his heavily pregnant wife to offer pleasure for him.

“You always knew how to capture me with your words,” Maria Theresia had spoken against his lips, laughing softly before she had kissed him once more and had allowed one of her hands to wander southwards. It had then been Franz Stephan turn to gasp when she had closed her fingers around his hardening member and had squeezed once with just the right amount of pressure.

“Is that so?”

“Do not act so modest now, François...”

Opening each other’s morning robes had not taken them longer than a few seconds and thanks to their night attire that they had both been wearing, it had not taken longer to expose as much flesh as they had desired. “How beautiful you are, my love.” God had known that what he had said had been anything but a lie. In his eyes, there could not have been a woman more beautiful that the woman he loved and had been blessed enough to have as his wife. “What have I done to deserve you.” Maria Theresia had continued to circle her hips and ground them against his nethers, her head tipping back when Franz Stephan had placed an invisible trail of kisses down the side of her neck and over her collar bone until he had reached her breasts, taking one into his hand while kissing the other.

“François...”

While he had caressed her breasts, Maria Theresia had blindly worked to free his member from his underwear. She had taken it onto herself to prepare herself enough, had slipped two of her fingers inside of her before she had reached for his cock. “Theresia, if you-”

“Do shut up,” she had cut him off, “two months from now I will be no longer able to do it.”

“I will not blame you for it.”

“I know.” With that she had placed the head of his member against her entrance and had lowered herself inch for inch onto it. Franz Stephan had groaned and Maria Theresia’s breath had hitched, their faces hovering so close to each other that the tips of their noses had touched. Given the position they had been in and the relatively short time frame they had faced, it had been of no surprise to either of them that it had not been like the love-making they had both preferred. Maria Theresia had buried her hands in Franz Stephan’s hair while he had held onto her waist, giving her the freedom to move her hips in the way that she had wanted to do it. They had kissed each other until their lungs had become desperate for air and even though his hips had been urging to snap up and into her, he had used the last bit of composure that he had to prevent them from doing so. He would not have been ashamed to admit that he had been afraid of causing her any discomfort. “François, François,” she had repeated over and over again, her voice laced with her arousal and the exertion that it took her to ride him as she had done it and he had embellished the side of her neck with a love bite at a spot which he had known she would be able to hide.

His fingers had dug into her soft flesh when he had come with a low-throated grown and if the hold Maria Theresia had on his hair had become painful, he had not registered it in the heat of the moment. _“Oh bon Dieu dans le ciel.”_ Their gazes had found each other and they had both broken out into laughter, with Franz Stephan bracing himself on the mattress when Maria Theresia had sacked against him, trying to catch her breath.

“We must get dressed,” she had muttered, “breakfast will be served soon.”

“Is it bad that I would rather say here with you?”

His playful question had earned him a snort and she had raised into a somewhat upright position to kiss him, silencing his laugh with her lips. “It is not, François, and if our son would not be waiting for us I would be very tempted to stay in bed with you.” She had stood from his lap and he had bitten his lip as he had brushed his fingers against her stomach once more. _His child._

“Are you... feeling well?”

“I am as well as I can only be.” Franz Stephan had watched how she had shrugged off her opened nightdress, “You must not worry so much about me, François.”

“You know that it is impossible for me to not do so.”

“Yes, I know.”

With a sigh he had stood from the bed and had, after having redressed himself as much as he could, exited Maria Theresia’s apartment to leave her to the attention of her chambermaids. He had been greeted by his own valet in his antechamber. “Sire,” Wilhelm had said with a quick bow and had raised from where he had been sitting on a chair, bowing yet again when Franz Stephan had made a waving hand gesture into his direction and had stepped onto the stool, thus signalling that he had been ready to be dressed.

The twenty minutes that it had taken until he had been fully dressed in his court attire had felt much longer than they had during any other morning; he may not have admitted it to himself, but he had been yearning to be in the presence of his family instead of those that had stood in his service. Their future had, after all, not yet been certain and Franz Stephan had been very much aware of just how fast happy and relatively peaceful times like these could be over with. “All done, Your Majesty,” the servant which had been responsible for his shoes had stated and Franz Stephan had nodded wordlessly, dismissing him and the handfull of others that had come together in his antechamber to take a look at himself in the mirror. He had not been able to help himself but to sigh, the forty years that he had lived seemingly written all over his face despite the powder that he had been wearing, though whether it had been the truth or due to his own perception, he had not known.

The last decade had worn him out more than any other of his life and he had felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest when he had, involuntarily so, wondered how different it could have been if none of his and Maria Theresia’s childrens would have been doomed to die a primature death. He had truly needed to force himself to prevent his thoughts from going to that direction just then - he could not have possibly known for how long the grief would solely play a background role in his life, and in the lives of his wife and his son. Fixing the second-to-last button of his waistcoat, Franz Stephan had turned away from the mirror. It had not been the right time to give in to his thoughts and his somewhat suppressed grief when the people that he had loved the most had been waiting for him. The smile that had grown on his face when a guard had opened the door to the dining hall for him had been a honest one; Joseph had brought a few of his new toy soldiers with him and had placed them beside his plate. If he would have done so as a child, his father would have punished him for breaking the rule of protocol but neither Franz Stephan nor Maria Theresia had commented on it.

He had crossed the room to greet Joseph with a kiss onto the top of his head before he had rounted the table and had kissed Maria Theresia, who had tilted her head back to allow him to do so. “How are you feeling?”

“I am feeling fine, just as I did the last time that you asked me, my love.”

Franz Stephan had snorted while she had chuckled a laugh, and he had kissed her once more, tearing a childish sound of disgust from their son. “Ew!”

“It is nothing disgusting, my son,” he had laughed, “you will be find out once you are old enough.”

“François,” Maria Theresia had scolded him, though the twinkle in her eyes had told him that she had not meant it as seriously as he had said it, “do not talk about such things with him.”

“Things as in...”, he had trailed off while leaning over to place his hand on her thigh, moving it upwards with a teasing slowness.

“ _Franz Stephan!_ ” Their laughter had filled out the room and Franz Stephan’s heart had soared when Maria Theresia had laid her hand on top of his for no longer than a second to squeeze it before she had beckoned a servant over to her side. “The tea, please.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Is there a lot planned for today?”

She had sighed, “I wish that there would not be, but the matters are of an urgent nature,” and had watched how the servant had filled her cup with the steaming liquid. “I doubt that I will be able to attend lunch with the both of you, François.” Maria Theresia’s voice had dropped lower as she had said the last part, unmistakably so that Joseph would not be able to hear her.

“I will take care of him, do not worry. He will be alright.”

“Thank you.”

“It is nothing that you must thank me for.” Franz Stephan had looked at her for a bit longer, had watched how she had stirred the golden spoon in the cup of tea until his attention had been pulled away by a string of sounds that had come from where their son had been seated at the table. Oh, what an endearing sight it had been. Joseph had held a baked treat in one while he had positioned the soldiers into formation with the other, clearly so into his game that he had not noticed how both of his parents had watched him. The older that Joseph had become and the more time that Franz Stephan had lived as a father, the less Franz Stephan had understood why his father had acted in the way that he had done it. Why ought he prohibit the boy from playing with toys or from seeking his mother’s comfort, especially since Joseph had done exceptionally well in all of his studies.

“Mon petit,” Maria Theresia had said, thus pulling the boy out of his game, “you must eat your breakfast.” Joseph had flinched, more due to the fact that he had been disturbed in his thoughts than the gentle voice of his mother addressing him, and had smiled at her as he had put the toy down to bring the treat to his mouth and take a large bite out of it.

 _How lucky they are to have been blessed with a child so well-behaved_ , Franz Stephan had thought and had smiled into his cup, taking his time to enjoy the savory taste of the day’s first coffee. That he had slept much too little during the past night had been as good as forgotten in that moment and he could not have helped himself but to try and catch a glimpse at Maria Theresia’s stomach while his wife had been bound into a rather joyous conversation with their son, trying to be as inconspiciously as possible to ensure that she would not notice it. If he had been worried to no end, he had not wanted to imagine what must had been going on inside of her mind with the uncertainty that had hovered so heavily over their heads. No one had been able to tell what the near future would bring them. Endless joy and endless despair, both had stood on the same ground and had been equally expected by Franz Stephan, who had tried to not brood about how great his fear of a turn for the worse had grown to be.

“Papa?”

He had blinked hard a couple of times and had cleared his throat, shifting in his position in the chair. “Yes, son.”

“Can I... stay with you today?”

Maria Theresia had looked at him with expectancy while Joseph’s large doe-like eyes had been as hopeful as they only could have been, and he had forced himself to a quick smile. “You may if you wish to do so.”

The boy’s face had lit up with a blinding smile from one second to another and Franz Stephan’s heart had felt a bit lighter at the fact that his son had been excited to spend time with him. “I do!”

“Alright then,” Maria Theresia had laughed, “you two ought to be glad to have a free day.”

“I am certain that you could postpone-”

“No, it is have I need to do. It is a duty of the crown.”

Franz Stephan had nodded once; while he would have liked to see his wife focus more on her well-being that her duties, he had known that it would have been an impossible request for him to make. “Promise me that you will notify Swieten if you do not feel well,” he had muttered after he had leaned over to kiss her cheek and had, at Maria Theresia’s nod, dropped the topic for the remainder of the meal.

“I will see you tonight.”

Franz Stephan had stood by and watched as Maria Theresia had taken their son’s face into her hands to kiss his forehead, “Be good and listen to your father.”

“I will, Mama. Promise.”

He had smiled, more so to himself, when she had moved around the boy to raise onto the tips of her toes and press a quick kiss against his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you as well, my sweet,” he had answered into the kiss and had squeezed her hand before he had allowed her to step away, “take care of yourself.” Joseph’s hand had come up to grasp Franz Stephan’s when Maria Theresia had crossed the room, her dress billowing and the present members of her entourage hurrying after her and before the door of the dining hall had even shut close, he had heard the first requests for his wife to take a look at something.

Sighing inaudibly, Franz Stephan had turned on his heels and had gently tugged at his son’s arm. “Come, let us go.” The boy had not needed to be told twice, soon turning to hum and skip as he walked at his side and Franz Stephan’s face had been lit up with an amused, but at the same time proud smile. Greetings had been directed at the both of them on the way to his study, where Franz Stephan had decided to take his son, ranging from a simple “Your Majesty” and “Your Highness” to entire laudatory monologues to their names which Franz Stephan had acknowledged with a nod while Joseph had not registered them. He had considered reminding the boy of his manners, that he ought to show his acknowledgement to those that would be his subjects one day, but had discarded that thought when Joseph had turned his head to grin up at him, his toy soldiers securely held into his free hand and the crook of his arm. _Let him be_ , he had told himself, _let him be a child_ , and had only let go of his son’s hand when he needed to unlock the door of his study. “In you go.”

A fire had already been lit in the fireplace as he had held the door open for Joseph to enter and the boy had, without much consideration, claimed the soft carpet in front of the fireplace while Franz Stephan had sat down behind his writing desk. There had been a stack of official documents regarding the newest decision in his politics of finance that he had needed to look over for any mistakes and set his signature under, a few applications and two clemency petitions.

It had been far from the heavy workload that he had been prepared for as a child and far from the insane amount of files that Maria Theresia had to work through on a daily routine, and Franz Stephan had not been able but to feel uneasy at the prospect as he had been sitting at his desk and had watched his son play on the carpet. If his wife’s pregnancy would continue it would be his duty, more so as her husband than her coregent, to relief her of those duties, of the hours that she had spend sitting over impressive stacks of documents and in the company of her many advisors and ministers. He would need to ensure that she would be as comfortable, and especially as safe as she only could be. Sighing yet again, Franz Stephan had forced himself to look away from where Joseph had been playing and to open the first of the files on the table in front of him. Concentrating on his work had turned out to be easier than he had expected it to be. The soft crackling from the fire and the sound of his son playing had, figuratively speaking, carried him through the period of time during which he had needed to fix his entire attention onto the inked words.

How long he had been working when Joseph’s voice had pulled him back into the there and then he had not known, if it would have been more than an hour he would not have been surprised. “Papa?”

He had looked up from the paper to see his son standing in front of the desk, his toys apparently discarded on the carpet. “Yes?” Good God, they really would have had a problem if Joseph’s nature would have been a mischievious one, for the way that the boy had held his hands behind his back while looking at him with doe-like eyes would have made it impossible for him to be stern or angry with him.

“May I read a book?”

“Which one?”

Ah, there _had_ been a reason as for why Joseph had been looking like him with such childish innocence, a reason that Franz Stephan had realised as soon as the boy had turned around, for a second, to point at one of the bookcases. The longitudinal wall of his office had been lined with fully-stocked bookcases which had held the books that Franz Stephan had not wanted to include in the royal library - mostly antique and expensive unique writings on the natural sciences, books that no one but he had been allowed to take out. Not that Maria Theresia had been particularly interested in them, anyway, and Franz Stephan had been about to negate when Joseph had pushed his bottom lip out. He had snorted a laugh and had shaken his head in disbelief, the boy truly had him wrapped around his finger. With a sigh he had stood from his chair, had rounded the table and had crouched down in front of his son. “Which one would you like to read, my love?”

The big, vulnerable eyes and pouty lips had disappeared within an instant as Joseph had squealed; Franz Stephan had made sure that his son had known that he had been prohibited from simply taking out books like the boy had done it in his mother’s study. He had stayed crouched down as Joseph had scampered over to one of the bookcases and had tapped a finger against the back of the book that had apparently caught his eye. “This one, Papa!”, the boy had exclaimed and Franz Stephan had nodded once, raising into an upright position. “This one!”

“I understood you well enough,” he had chuckled, “there is no reason for you to yell.” His son had blushed and he had, at the boy’s muttered apology, patted the top of Joseph’s head before he had taken the book out that the boy had so obviously desired. “There you go.”

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.” He had not passed the book to Joseph, but had rather laid it down onto the carpet that his son had been playing on before as it very well could have weighed as much as the boy, well aware that his surprise and excitement about his son’s choice had stood clearly on his face. _A collection of Ancient Roman coins._ That he had collected coins and minerals under the name of his crown his son had known, of course, and Franz Stephan had never been interested in forcing his own likings onto Joseph - but the boy had seemed honestly interested in history, as his teacher had claimed, and Franz Stephan had made a mental notice to discuss it with Maria Theresia later that day. They would be fools if they would decide to not go after it, in whatever way it may be. It had only been once his son had been sitting in front of the large book, with crossed legs and glistering eyes, that he had returned to his desk and had picked his quill back up. He had nodded to himself as he had read the papers, shaking is head every now and then when he had crossed out a paragraph that he had no longer agreed with.

“Papa?”

The second time that his son had distrubed him, Franz Stephan had felt a surge of annoyance. That it had been audibly in his voice he had realized when Joseph had taken a step back after his question of “What is it?”.

“I-I just wanted to ask i-if we could go for a ride,” the boy had hurried to answer with a stutter and Franz Stephan leaned back into his chair, offering an almost apologetic smile to his son before he had turned his face towards the windows.

The weather had been anything but promising; dark and heavy clouds had seemed to stick onto the grey sky. He had sensed that it had not yet been cold enough for the winter’s first snow, but any rain that might fall could have been just as uncomfortable. “I fear that we cannot do so, Joseph.”

“What?” The boy’s eyes had grown wide, “But... why?”

“The weather is not good enough.”

“Oh.” Joseph had shifted his weight from foot to foot and even though his son had looked down at his shoes, Franz Stephan had seen the disappointment on his face.

“However, I do have an idea as for what we could do in the afternoon.”

“You do?”

“I could take you to the menagerie if you wish it, my son.” The disappointment had vanished from Joseph’s face as fast as it had appeared and the boy had nodded strong enough for his curls to bounce. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, Papa!”

“Good.” Franz Stephan had nodded, had watched how his son had sat back down and had kept his eyes on him for a few more seconds before he had managed to look away. He had not know where it had come from, but the worry about his son’s future had stood in the fore once more. What would become of Joseph once he and Maria Theresia would be gone? Franz Stephan had hoped, had prayed that he would live long enough to see his son being crowned as Roman King and thus as his successor but if anyone had known how cruel the blows of fate could be, it had been him. No one would have been able to tell him what the future would bring for him, his wife and his son - and for the life of his unborn child. With a restorative sip from the wine that he had poured himself, Franz Stephan had eventually managed to force his attention onto the stack in front of him and when he had been disturbed for a third time, it had been by his his first valet, who had notified him that lunch would soon be ready for him and Joseph. He had blinked in surprise, mostly due to the fact that his son had obviously managed to stay silent for over two hours, and had dismissed the valet with nod into his direction. “Joseph?”

“Hm?”

“Come, it is time for lunch.”

The boy had, as he had usually done it, obeyed, and while Franz Stephan had remembered Maria Theresia’s prior notice of her not being able to attend, he had still been disappointed when her place at the table had not been set. Instead of sitting down, he had moved around the table to where his son had already climbed onto his chair and had kissed the top of Joseph’s head. “Why do you not already start eating,” he had suggested, “while I go and tell your mother that we will be visiting the menagerie.”

“Okay.”

“Good boy.” His son had beamed up at him and he had patted the top of his head before he had left, beckoning Wilhelm, his valet, to follow him.

“Sire.”

“Arrange for a carriage to Schönbrunn to be ready as soon as possible,” Franz Stephan had said once they had reached the main staircase and the valet had, judging by the crease between his eyebrows, seemed a bit stunned by Franz Stephan’s order.

“Schönbrunn? Sire, I do not seem to-”

“My son wishes to visit the menagerie,” Franz Stephan had cut him with a short burst of laughter, stopping in his tracks to put a hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder. “You have not missed any decision that my wife or I made, no need to worry.”

Wilhelm had sighed and showed a relieved smile, “I will ensure that the carriage will be ready, Sire.”

“Thank you.”

The valet had bowed and had turned around to hurry down the stairs while Franz Stephan had continued his route to the part of the Hofburg that had housed Maria Theresia’s study, his chest full of excitement to see her again. Upon being asked, he would not have been ashamed to admit that he had loved her all the same, so as if not more than a day had passed since he had confessed his love to her during their ride-out. The pair of guards that had stood on their posts on each side of the study’s door had bowed in an unison gesture as he had come to stand in front of him, one of them eventually stepping forward to knock at and open the door for him. “Your Majesty.”

Franz Stephan had entered, the door had been closed behind him and he had stood on the spot, expecting a greeting. It had not come; the sound of a quill moving over parchment not pausing for a second. “Theresia?” “Oh, François.” Snorting at the prospect of her having been buried in her work enough to not having heard the quite forceful knock, he had moved further into the room until Maria Theresia’s writing desk had come into sight. It had not taken him more than the first look to realise that something had been wrong.

“I did not hear you coming.”

The only times that he had seen his wife’s face so colorless had been during occasions when she had been in absolutely no condition to sit behind a desk, and his heart had been in his throat from one second to another. “My love,” he had breathed, hurrying to cross the room and once he had come closer, he had also spotted the thin sheet of sweat on her forehead. _Oh God, please do not..._ “Theresia, what is wrong.” She had blinked a couple of times, looking up at him as if she had not yet fully perceived his presence and she had let out a sound that Franz Stephan had put somewhere between a gasp of surprise and a groan of discomfort. “Theresia-”

“Nothing is wrong,” Maria Theresia had answered and she had groaned once more as she had leaned back into her chair, pressing her palms into her stomach. The shudder than had went through him had been enough to turn his knees dangerously unsteady. “I have a simple heartburn, François,” she had went on, “nothing unusual. It is nothing for you to worry about.” Unable to speak due to the fear that had clasped its invisible hand around his throat to squeeze it shut, he had wordlessly leaned over the table to touch Maria Theresia’s forehead witht he back of his hand. “I am too hot but van Swieten told me that it would not be wise to open the windows too much.” She had spoken before he even had the chance to and while she had obviously done so to easy his worry, it had caused the exact opposite. No fire had been lit in the fireplace and the air had been chilly enough to cause him to shiver.

“Theresia-”

“Would you please stop?” Her voice had gained an, for her, unusually biting tone, one that had been mitigated by the groan that had followed her snarl.

“Shall I go and notify van Swieten?”

“No no, no there is no need for that. I already saw him today.”

He had swallowed hard and had watched how she had continued to hold her stomach for a few moments longer until the pained look on her face had disappeared. Once it had, Maria Theresia had sighed and sat back up, looking a bit less miserably. It had done nothing to calm Franz Stephan’s immense worry about her. “Did you have something to eat?”

“Not since breakfast,” she had admitted, almost sheepishly so, and a smile had grown on her face when he had let out a sound of disapproval. He had tried not to think about how it had not quite reached her eyes.

“I will order for something to be brought to you.”

“Thank you.” Maria Theresia had still been looking at him instead of the impressive, and quite sobering, mountain of files to her left, and she had hummed when he had leaned down to haste a kiss against her cheek.

“You are most welcome, my love. I worry about you.”

“I know.” She had allowed him to take her face into his hands, her eyes fluttering close when his thumbs had caressed the skin over her cheekbones and a sigh escaping her.

“If it is too much for you to do...”

“No, I will manage. I promise.” While he would have liked for her to retreat to bed, he had known that he never could have forced her to do so. “Why did you come to see me, François?” Oh, he had nearly forgotten about it.

“I offered to take Joseph to the menagerie.”

“What?”

“He asked me whether we could go on a ride, but with the weather...”

“Yes, I would not want him riding in the rain and catching a cold.”

“It is what I told him.” Maria Theresia had nodded, “Take him to the menagerie, François, I am sure that he will enjoy it. It will do him good to see something else.”

“What about you, Theresia.”

“I...”, she had cleared her throat, “I will finish the files which are required to be done today and see you tonight.” She propably would have sounded a bit more convincing if her face would not have lacked any color whatsoever and it had troubled Franz Stephan that he had not been able to do anything else than to let her be.

He had kissed her cheek anew, “I will see you at dinner, my love. Please take care and consult van Swieten before dinner.” _I worry so much about you_ , he had pleased in his mind with a futile hope of her being able to hear it. _Take the day off, you need to rest_.

“I promise that I will.”

With a low sigh, Franz Stephan had let go of her face and had turned around to leave her study, his heart still beating strong enough for him to feel it in his throat. If he had thought about canceling the short trip and he most definitely would have done so if it would not have utterly broken his son’s heart. Maybe, he had told himself, he had been overreacting. Maria Theresia would not lie about having seen the physician and Franz Stephan had been certain that Gerard van Swieten would have notified him if he would have diagnosed something noteworthy. Even though his mind had been heavy with worry, he could not do but to smile and shake his head when he had returned to the dining hall after giving out an order for a meal to be brought to his wife. Joseph had obviously skipped the main course, as the boy had been happily eating away at a baked treat. “Joseph _Benedikt Anton Michel_ , what do you think you are doing,” he had chided with a stern voice, forcing himself to not smile as he closed in on the table. Albeit the scene, and the grin that had stood on his son’s chocolate-covered face, had been a rather adorable one, there had been a few rules that he would need to enforce. Joseph’s grin had faded as soon as he had noticed that his father had indeed been serious and the boy had swallowed hard, putting the half-eaten treat down onto the plate in front of him. “You know that you are not allowed to have a dessert without having eaten something proper first, do you not?”

“I do,” Joseph had whispered, “I am sorry, Papa.”

“You will not be allowed to have dessert tonight, be sure of that,” Franz Stephan had retorted, still sternly but with a softer voice than he had spoken with before as he had sat down and beckoned a servant over. He had not expected the boy to answer and had picked up his spoon to dunk it into the hearty stew when he had heard a small, but heartbreaking sniffle. _Oh what am I to do with you, boy_. Franz Stephan had not wasted a second thought on the possibility of his son having been upset because on the prospect of a dessert-less dinner, had known that the sensitive boy had most definitely taken the short scolding more to his heart than he would have needed to. “Come here.”

Joseph had jumped onto his feet in a second and another choked sob had escaped him as he had downright jumped into his father’s lap and had wrapped his arms around Franz Stephan’s neck. “I’m s-sorry Papa.”

Briefly wondering how gravely his son’s reaction would be if he would ever need to punish him sincerely, Franz Stephan had run a hand over Joseph’s trembling back. “Calm yourself, my love. You are forgiven.”

“Am I?”

“Of course, you are otherwise very well behaved, Joseph. Your mother and I are most proud of you.”

Joseph had nodded and had, after a few more moments of consoling from his father, returned to his seat on his own accord and Franz Stephan had made sure to finish his meal rather briskly, making it possible for them to board the carriage not more than fifteen minutes later. The hour-long ride to Hietzing had passed by without any incidents. Joseph had sat at his side, his head leaned against his father’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around Franz Stephan’s arm as they had chatted about whatever topic the boy had wanted to talk about. Franz Stephan had kown that he should have been glad about his son’s interest in Maria Theresia’s pregnancy and the child that had been growing inside of her, but he had not been able to hide the stab of grief at the excitement that Joseph had shown. If Maria Theresia should lose the child, it would be devestating to all three of them.

“Oh Papa and if it is a boy I can play with him!”

Franz Stephan had laughed, leaning down to kiss the top fo his son’s head, “Girls cannot be played with?”

“Ew, no! Girls are... ew.”

“Of course they are,” he had said with a snort and a shake of his head, adding _you just wait until you get older_ in his mind.

“They are, Papa!”

Joseph had motioned to sit up, but Franz Stephan had laid an arm around him to pull him back down onto the seat. “I do believe you, son. Calm yourself.”

The only one that had awaited their arrival in Schönbrunn had been the groundskeeper, who had been notified of the surprise visit of the Emperor and his son. “Your Majesty,” the elderly man had greeted Franz Stephan with a bow as deep as it probably only could have been before addressing Joseph. “Your Highness.”

A tidal wave of pride had washed over Franz Stephan as his son had straightened and had acknowledged the groundskeeper’s greeting with a nod and a boyish smile. “Let us go then.”

“Your Majesty, Your Highness.”

They had made their way to the gardens of the royal summer residence, the yellow façade seeming even brighter than it usually had been due to the dead flowers, bare trees and the grey sky that had come with the wintertime, and Franz Stephan had asked the groundkeeper to report about the most recent state of the menagerie. The gardens of Schönbrunn and the plans that he had for the vast space had been supposed to become his priority in the coming year, but with the news of Maria Theresia’s pregnancy and the uncertainty that it had brought he had not known whether he would be able to implement it.

“Papa, look!” For how long they had been walking Franz Stephan had not been able to tell, but he had guessed that it must had been close to half an hour when Joseph’s call had disturbed them. “Can I pet them? Oh please, can I pet them Papa?”

Ah, the kennel. He should have guessed that they would eventually pass by it and even though he would have liked for his son to take a look at the exotic birds rather than the dogs, he had not had the heart to deny Joseph’s wish. So he had nodded, had answered with an “Off you go” and the boy had, with an excited squeal, run over to the gate to open it and slid inside.

“Your son seems to be a special boy, Your Majesty,” the groundskeeper had said, coming to stand at Franz Stephan’s side.

“He very much is, my wife and I are most proud of.” Franz Stephan had watched how Joseph had emerged himself in the group of yapping dogs that had all been eager for his attention, a handful of them jumping up at him and making the boy giggle.

“Shall I show you to the peafowls, Your Majesty?”

“It is what I decided to come here for,” he had retorted with a determined nod, “let us go.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but I've been struggling a lot with writing the past few days (weeks, really) so please excuse me if it's not the best thing I ever wrote. I'm trying y'all! :-D Exams are coming up as well, I thus apologise for the late update as well.
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**March 1750**

To Franz Stephan there had been few animals as interesting as peafowls which had, quite frankly speaking, been the sole reason as for why they had been amongst the first animals that he had purchased for his menagerie. While they had been beautiful to look at and had not required too much care, they had been uttery, _utterly_ stupid. Franz Stephan had guessed that at least half of their appeal had come from their stupidity and the funny little incidents which had resulted in it - the memory of a peacock trying to mate with Maria Theresia’s umbrella not once or twice, but three times had been a precious one that had managed to make him smile whenever he would relive it. It had been that memory that had been the reason behind the smile that had shown itself on his face when he had stood at the enclosure in which the Asian birds had roamed freely.

The groundskeeper had still been talking, though the older man’s voice had been nothing but background noise to Franz Stephan and if his hands had held onto the wooden fence of the enclosure a bit too hard, he had not noticed it. His mind had strayed off as in the same way that had done it so often in the past few months and even though he had not wanted it to happen, he had been pitifully helpless against it. The sheer amount of uncertainty that had taken over his life had overwhelmed him in moments like these, the fear of loss and the frightening prospect of grief had been creeping up at him the more he had tried to not think about them and the condition that he had seen Maria Theresia in had only made it worse. He had not forgotten how close he had come to losing her during the days in which the feaver had burned though her, killing their unborn son and damaging his wife greatly, in body as well as in mind. Good God, how had it happened almost _seven_ years ago? The groundskeeper had asked him something and Franz Stephan, unaware of the question, had nodded out of reflex, which had apparently been an expected answer, as the other man had simply continued with his monologue.

He had let him, had not tried to intervene and had, with he certainty that the groundskeeper could not see it, allowed himself to close his eyes as he had leaned onto the fence for support. God had known how excited he had been about the pregnancy, how much he had _yearned_ for another child with all of his heart but if the price for it would be Maria Theresia’s health or even her life... How cruel of a fate would it be to have Joseph, and a possible second child, to grow up without their mother and he had not even bear to think about having to live the rest of his life without his beloved wife at his side, fearing for his heart to break into a million shards from the thought alone. With a sigh more unsteady than he had expected it to be Franz Stephan had pushed himself off the fence and had straightened his spine, clasping his hands behind his back. The last thing that he wanted to do had been to lose his composure in front of the groundskeeper. “Thank you for your time,” he had managed to say with a somewhat steady voice, “you may resume to your duties.”

Whether the groundskeeper had noticed his sudden change of mood or not he had not known, and he had went back to lean against the fence as soon as he had been in solitude, drawing in a deep breath and keeping it in his lungs without having been aware of it. That he had not been as fine as he had acted he had been, that the memories of their lost children had begun to hurt more something that Franz Stephan had wanted to admit to himself and the only thing that may had kept him from giving in to the tears that had been viciously burning in his eyes had the futile hope that still resided in a corner of his chest nonetheless despite all the blows of fate he had suffered - the hope that it could be alright. He had long stopped praying for God to send them a miracle and Maria Theresia had gotten pregnant, despite the negative prognosis from the court physician and their hopelessness. She had been pregnant, expecting another one of _his_ child and Franz Stephan’s jaw had clenched shut from the sudden flash of anger than had shot through him. _It had not been fair._ That they had been given no other choice than to live through so much pain and despair, that he had been able to do anything but stand by wait for whatever decision fate would make for them. If it would be a cruel decision, if he and Maria Theresia would be forced to bury another one of their children he had been certain that his wife would not survive it.

Letting out the breath that he had been holding in, Franz Stephan had clicked his tongue as if it could have helped him to regain his composure. He had lingered in that position for a good few moments before he had slowly straightened his posture and turned away from the enclosure, the lump in his throat only disappearing once he had perceived the carefree laughter of Joseph. The boy had left the kennel only to run around the adjoining meadow, chased by a group of playfully barking dogs. If Maria Theresia would have witnessed it she would have gone mad with worry, considering how overprotective she had always been of their son. Franz Stephan, however, had found a moment of peace in the sight of Joseph rollicking about in the high grass. The boy had not noticed him and Franz Stephan had only made his presence known when his son had stumbled over something and had fallen onto the ground with a resounding cry, a sound that had hit Franz Stephan at his very core. “Joseph!” He nearly would have fallen over a branch on the floor as well as he had ran to where his son had been surrounded by the pack of dogs, his heart beating so strong that he had been able to hear it in his head. “Joseph!”

A sound that only could have been described as a choked sob had left him when the boy had sat up on his own, looking quite confused by the fall that he had taken. “Pa-apa?”

“Oh God, Joseph, are you hurt?” His voice had quivered as he had crouched down beside his son, who had sat in the meadow, the front of his attire dirtied with mud.

“N-No,” Joseph had answered, but Franz Stephan had not missed how his chin had wobbled when the boy had looked at his mud-covered palms and he had reached out to brush a curl away from his son’s forehead.

“Thank God you are not hurt. Come, up you go.”

The boy had not hesitated to take the hand that had been offered to him. “I did not mean to fall, Papa.” Given the time of year, the sun had already begun to set and Franz Stephan had shaken his head at Joseph’s whispered confession, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he had leaned down to haste a quick kiss onto the top of his son’s head. “I would have guessed that you did not throw yourself into the dirt. It is not very enjoyable, is it.” Joseph had shaken his head, sheepishly tugging at his ruined clothes and refusing to look at his father as his cheeks had blushed underneath the mud on his face. “It is time for us to return to Vienna, I believe.”

His young son had nodded and Franz Stephan had merely squeezed Joseph’s hand after it had grasped one of his own; getting the dogs back into their kennel would be the duty of the groundskeeper and so he had paid them no mind as he lead his son back to the courtyard. “I love you, Papa,” Joseph had said, pretty much out of the blue, as the carriage had set into motion and Franz Stephan had felt his heart somersault as it did every time when his son would tell him just that.

“I love you too, my son.” He had allowed the boy to snuggle up to him despite the mud that had ruined his clothes, very well aware of how lucky he had been for the good relationship that he had with his child. He would have given anything if his father would have behaved around him like he had done it with Joseph and the older his son had become, the less Franz Stephan had understood how his father had been able to be so distant and cold towards him and his siblings. “What do you say if we do not tell your mother that you fell, hm? It would only cause her to worry about you.”

When Joseph had looked up at him, Franz Stephan could have sworn that there had been a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “Does that mean that you will _lie_ to Mama?”

He had laughed out loud, “No,” he had said with a shake of his head and he boy had squealed when his father had patted him onto his backside in a playful warning a couple of times, “and neither will you or I will be very displeased with you. Is that clear?”

“I won’t Papa, I promise!” Joseph’s laughter had not only filled out the carriage, but the chasm in Franz Stephan’s chest as well and he had pulled his son even closer, not caring about his clothes, to kiss the top of his head.

When the carriage had passed through the gates of the Hofburg to come to stand in the courtyard a few moments later, it had since began to dizzle, making the evening uncomfortably clammy and Franz Stephan’s face had pulled into a quick grimace as he had stepped out of the carriage. He had been greeted by his valet, who had dutifully awaited his arrival and had held an umbrella over his head to prevent his wig from being ruined. “Sire.”

“Thank you, Wilhelm,” Franz Stephan had retorted, turning back around towards the carriage. “Come, Joseph.” His son had obeyed and had climbed down the steps of the carriage, looking down at his feet as if he had been ashamed of the condition that he and his attire had been.

“What happened to you, Your Highness?”

The valet had sounded sincerely worried and Franz Stephan had snorted, clasping a hand onto his shoulder. “He played with the dogs and fell into the dirt, he is unhurt.”

“That is a relief, Sire.”

“A great one, Wilhelm. Especially for my wife.”

“I can imagine so, Sire.”

The group of three had walked across the courtyard, Joseph keeping himself close to his father’s side to shield himself from the rain and Franz Stephan had given his son over to Madame d’Aboville, who had commented the boy’s appearance with a gasp and a promise that he would be presentable as soon as possible. Franz Stephan had watched his son being lead away by his governess, his valet ever so dutifully at his side. “Where is my wife?”

“As far as I know Her Majesty is still working in her study, Sire.” He had clenched his jaw at the valet’s answer and had needed to turn away, unable to hide the desperate anger that had been brooding inside of him. “Sire?” Other than he had done it in the company of the groundskeeper, Franz Stephan had not been required to hide his feelings in front of the valet. Wilhelm had stood by his side during the darkest days of his life, had witnessed him breaking down more times that he ever would have expected it and so it had been anything but a surprise that Wilhelm had noticed his unusual behaviour. “Sire, is everything alright?”

While it had not been due to the valet, Franz Stephan would have liked to yell at him and he probably would have done it if they would not have been standing in the entrance hall of the Hofburg. The anger that had mixed itself under the despair had not been triggered by anything or anyone in particular and neither had it been directed at anyone other than God and the fate that had been thrusted upon him and his family. “Van Swieten made it clear that she ought to not overwork herself.” It had taken him a few moments, but he had eventually succeeded in speaking with a somewhat steady voice and Wilhelm had moved as well as he had held onto the balustrade to lean heavily against it. “I worry about her.”

The valet had nodded slowly, so as if he had searched for the right answer and Franz Stephan had shaken his head at the same time, lowering it in an act of resignation. “I do not know what Her Majesty is thinking, Sire, I would never be so presumptuous as to even think that I do but... I believe it to be possible that her duties enable Her Majesty to prevent herself from breaking her mind, Sire.”

Albeit that possibility had ghosted over Franz Stephan’s mind many times before, it had hit him as if he had heard it for the first time. The tension in his shoulders had disappeared from one second to another and he had sighed, shaking his head once more. “I am not angry with her, Wilhelm. I worry. All I do is worry about my wife, my son and my unborn child and...” The valet had not answered verbally, but Franz Stephan had taken his nod as an invitation to continue and he had squeezed his eyes shut as he had went on. “I know that there is nothing that I can do to influence the course of time, to change the plan that God has put out for us and yet I cannot help but to think of it as unjust and cruel. What did we do to deserve it, Wilhelm? What did we do? I do not blame her, I never would. I just do not understand how she cannot she that I worry about her.” That the valet had not been able to answer his question as of why Franz Stephan had known, but some of the heavy burden on his heart had been lifted after his short rant and he had pushed himself off the balustrade with a sigh. “I must thank you for listening to my babbling.”

“It is nothing that you ought to thank me for, Sire,” the valet had retorted, lowering his head. “May I answer to the question that you asked me, Sire?”

“Of course, yes.”

“I... would advise you to talk to Her Majesty, Sire. I do not want to imagine how great Her Majesty’s worry must be.” Wilhelm had, for the second time that late afternoon, said nothing but the truth and Franz Stephan had been gripped by the sudden fear that he and Maria Theresia could drift apart like they had done it after Franz Karl’s death. He had needed to fight the urge to storm off and seek her presence in that very moment, for the mud that Joseph had carried on his attire had dirtied his own as well and she would ask about it if she would see him. Franz Stephan had sighed quietly, and had dismissed his first valet with a waving gesture of his hand, watching him leave before he had set into motion himself.

 _“I do not want to imagine how great Her Majesty’s worry must be.”_ Other than his valet, Franz Stephan had not needed to imagine. He had known; it would have been a blatant lie if he would have said that he had not known how great her fear, her worry and her despair had been and it would have been incredibly selfish if he would have believed that her suffering had not been as severe as his - no, her suffering had been much greater than his ever could have been. It had been his wife, his beloved Maria Theresia who had suffered through the births, the sickness and the many dubious fertility treatments. 

He had done without demanding the help of either of his servants and had instead taken it onto himself to change into an attire that would be fitting for the remainder of the day, but had sat down on the canapé in front of his bed and had buried his face in his hands before he had finished to close the buttons of his waistcoat. While this situation of uncertainty and grief had, sadly, been anything but new to him, it had still been enough to shake him to his very core if he would think about it for more than a moment. Oh how he had yearned to have at turn for the better in his life, and the life of his family at that. He had yearned for him and Maria Theresia to be blessed with another child that they could hold in their arms instead of only being able to visit in the crypt, had wished for Joseph to no longer be without a sibling and had, most of all, hoped for the wound in his chest to become a little less painful. That another child would not be able to wipe out the memory of what they had lost had not been something that Franz Stephan had neither expected not wanted.

The memories that he had of his oldest child, his beloved daughter Maria Elisabeth, had been amongst his most priced possession and there had been moments when he still had not been able to truly fathom that a nearly a decade had passed since she had been robbed of her young life by a sickness. Out of the three children that they had lost, Liesl’s death had hit him the hardest. He had not been able to put his finger onto the reason why, but he had guessed that it had been due to the fact that she had lived with them for three years, that she had called him Papa and that he had spend countless of hours rocking her to sleep. God had not blessed him with the priviledge of getting to do the same things with either Maria Anna or Franz Karl... and then that another chance had been so close but so uncertain, Franz Stephan had found himself confronted with his wounds once again. It had been him, who, despite having earned the title of the epitome of maskulinity for himself as Emperor and coregent, had been haunted by the grief of the past and the fear of what had yet been to come. What had scared him the most as he had been sitting on the canapé had been the fact that the loss would be greater the further Maria Theresia’s pregnancy would proceed.

Franz Stephan had continued to sit there for a little while longer, his elbows planted on his thighs and his face hidden from sight. He had not been crying, had instead used the bit of mental strength that he had left to force his tears to stay suppressed, promising himself that he would be able to shed them once he would be in the solitude of his study where neither his son nor his wife would witness them. If he would have known just what a blessing Joseph’s pregnancy and birth had been, he would not have distanced himself from Maria Thersia as much as he had done it all so foolishly. When she had gotten pregnant with their son, Franz Stephan had still been overpowered by the grief that the loss of both Maria Anna and Maria Elisabeth had brought upon him and it had been that grief that had made it impossible for him to stay close as his wife’s side. Him having distanced himself from his wife had, in hindsight, been one of the worst mistakes that he had ever made in his lifetime for it had robbed him of the oportunity of being present at his son’s birth. How had he even managed to withdraw himself enough for Maria Theresia to have believed that he had no longer been interested in her and their child, had been unfathomable to him.

He had stood from the canapé with a groan, had run his hands over his face in a tired gesture and had moved back over to the mirror to close the last buttons of his waistcoat. Franz Stephan surely would have preferred to be served his dinner in his study and he would have ordered it if Joseph and Maria Theresia would not have been due to attend the meal with him. Albeit having spend a much longer time in his bedroom than he had planned, neither his son nor his wife had been waiting for him in the dining hall when he had entered it and he had barely supressed a sigh as he had poured himself a glass of wine, falling rather than sitting down in his chair. He had absentmindedly sipped at his drink, enjoying the familiar sweetness of the wine on his tongue, and had managed to show a somewhat honest smile when the double-winged door had been pushed open and his son had come into sight.

The boy had been dressed in a new attire which, in itself, had not been exceptionally endearing - it had been a near identical replica of the one that Joseph had worn before, and so it had most likely been due to Franz Stephan’s emotional unsteadiness that his heart had shot into his throat at the sight of his son. Joseph had offered him a wide smile as he had crossed the room with a child-like zest in his gate. _What if something will happen to him_.

The small voice in the back of his mind had made itself noticable just when Franz Stephan and his son had smiled at each other and it’s reminder had, momentarily, robbed him of his breath. What was wrong with him that day? He had hurried to take a restorative sip from the drink in his hand and had set the glass down on the table in front of him with more vigor than he would have needed to do it, keeping his gaze fixed on his son who had been nipping at a glass-full of water. _He is alright_ , Franz Stephan had chided himself in the silence of his mind, _he has not been sick to this day, he is alright_. “Have you seen your mother on your way?” His voice had been surprisingly steady after he had cleared his throat twice in a row and Joseph had shaken his head in negation.

“No, Papa. But Mama will come, right?”

“That she will, my son. That she will.”He had expected her to come through the door at any given moment, as Maria Theresia had detested unpunctuality, and as soon as the grandfather’s clock had announced the beginning of another hour, Franz Stephan’s expectation had turned into nervous anticipation. If he had remembered correctly, the stack on his wife’s desk had been anything but large enough to force her behind it for an entire day but with his young son at his side, he had made sure that his nervousness had not been noticable. He had managed to keep himself contained for ten minutes before he had beckoned his valet over with one rough gesture of his hand.

“Sire.” Wilhelm had leaned down, enabling Franz Stephan to speak to him in a low voice.

“Where is my wife?”

The valet had straighted, “I do not know, Sire. Shall I go and find out?”

Franz Stephan had nodded, looking at his son to see if the boy had grown suspicious as well but the boy had merely hummed a tune that Franz Stephan had not known and had toyed with his napkin. “Tell her than we are awaiting her.”

Wilhelm had nodded, bowed and turned on his heels to stride through the room, his hands held behind his back. Before the valet had a chance to give a signal to the guard for the door to be opened, a relatively loud clinking sound followed by a cry and murmuring had reached through to them. Franz Stephan had sat upright within the split of a second, his face set into a perfectly calm mask. That his heart had raced, no one had needed to notice. Wilhelm had turned around from where he had stopped in front of the door and the single look that they had exchanged had been enough. If there had been an occurrence, a breach of security, protocol would have required for Franz Stephan and his son to leave to the royal chambers immediately but before he had been able to think about any possible reason for the disquiet, yet another call had reached them.

“Your Majesty - someone must notify the doctor!”

Franz Stephan had jumped up onto his feet so forcefully that it had caused his chair to topple over, his valet already having thrown the double-winged door open. His mind had seemed to have frozen the second that he had heard the call for a doctor and when he had stormed out onto his corridor, it had nearly been his heart that had stopped working as well. Maria Theresia had been slumped on the floor, surrounded by a group consistent of her entourage and the servants that had been in the corridor and while she had not been unconscious, Franz Stephan could not have been anymore frightened than if she would have been. His wife had been shaking like a leaf, her face slack as if she no longer had control of it and her arms had been trembling from the strain of keeping her in a somewhat upright position. “Your Majesty? Your Majesty!” While Franz Stephan had been unable to _think_ , let alone to get his body to move for a good few seconds, two members of Maria Theresia’s loyal entourage had crouched themselves down onto the floor without a worry about their luxurious dresses to fan air into Maria Theresia’s face. “Your Majesty!”

“Someone must notify the doctor!”

It had only been then that Franz Stephan had snapped out of his state of shock and he, at any other occasion, would have been ashamed of the helpless whimper that had escaped him as he had stumbled over to his wife, not perceiving the pain that had shot through his legs when his knees had connected hard with the wooden floor. “Theresia.” His voice had been anything but stable and the people that had surrounded Maria Theresia had backed away when he had came close, the frantic whispers nothing but a dull noise to him. He had taken her face into his hands, his heart pounding in his chest once he had realised how burning her skin had been and it had only gotten worse when Maria Theresia had not opened her eyes after he had shaken her gently. “Theresia, my love...” The way that he had guided her to lean against his chest had been little more than a controlled fall and Maria Theresia had let out a small, pained gasp as she had weakly brought up her hands to grasp at the back of Franz Stephan’s jacket. She had still been trembling and yet had to bring out a single word, the trembling of her body not easying down when Franz Stephan had wrapped his arms around her and he had strained his neck to look at Wilhelm, who had been as wide-eyed as the other witnesses. “Get the doctor, get him now!”

The valet had pressed his lips together and had nodded sharply before he had run off - no one had cared that it had been a breaching of protocol.

“Theresia, can you look at me? Theresia.” Franz Stephan’s voice had barely been above a frantic whisper as he had spoken against her temple, urging a hand between them to blindly search for his wife’s chin in order to get her to look up at him.

“I...”, she had eventually set on, but trailing off without finishing whatever it had been that she had wanted to say and Franz Stephan had squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head.

He would have liked for her to be brought to bed, but with neither his valet nor the doctor present it had not been a possibility. He had not wanted anyone else to touch his beloved wife and he had known that she would not have agreed with someone other than him holding her; his breath had hitched when he had absentmindedly begun to rock her, the group of courtiers and servanrs around them showing no signs of breaking up. “Theresia...”

“Papa?”

A few members of Maria Theresia’s entourage had gasped when Joseph’s voice had interrupted the scene and Franz Stephan had felt his chest clenching as he had whirled around, his heart dropping when his eyes had landed on his son. The boy had been frozen to a spot near the double-winged door, much like it had happened to his father, and what had truly caused Franz Stephan’s heart to shatter had been the look on his son’s face. _Fear, nothing but unmasked fear._ Before he could have forced himself to say something, anything, really, Wilhelm had come back into sight. The valet’s face had been tinted red and Franz Stephan had been able to hear his heavy breathing from a distance. “Monsieur van Swieten will be here immediately, Sire,” Wilhelm had managed to bring out in one effusion of words as the valet had tried to catch his breath, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at the sweat on his forehead.

Franz Stephan had nodded and in the few seconds that he had taken his eyes off his son to look at his valet, tears had begun to make their way down Joseph’s face. “M-Mama?” The boy had taken a hesitating, desperate step into the direction of their parents but when Franz Stephan had looked looked away and down at his wife, who had muttered something that he could not have understood, Joseph had turned on his heels and had run off. “Joseph!”

“Oh, the poor boy,” someone had commented and Franz Stephan had swallowed hard, tightening the hold he had on his wife.

That he had still been kneeling rather uncomfortably on the floor he had, with all that had happened around him, forgotten and it had been his valet that had pulled him back into the there and then. “Sire, you ought to-”

“ _What?_ ”

“Her Majesty ought to be in bed and not on the ground, Sire.”

He had nodded, a bit absentminded, and had moved one of his hands to cup it against the back of Maria Theresia’s hands. That it had been in vain to ask whether she could stand up on her own he had known - he had asked her nonetheless, and had at the breathed-out negation from his wife nodded to Wilhelm. Together with the valet, who had steadied her on one side, Franz Stephan had managed to stand up while raising Maria Theresia onto her feet at the same time. He had expected to find blood dripping down her legs as it had happened the last time that she had been in such a condition, but no red specks had landed on the floor once she had been in a somewhat upright position. “François...”

“It will be alright,” Franz Stephan had answered with a frantical whisper, his attempt to calm his wife _and_ himself not as successful as he had wanted it to be. “Swieten will come and see you, my love. It will be alright.”

Maria Theresia’s only answer had been a pained groan and he had shared an uttermost worried look with his first valet, his heart not yet having calmed in its racing. It had taken longer, much longer than Franz Stephan had expected it to, but the door to Maria Theresia’s private rooms had eventually come into sight and they had just heaved her onto her bed when Gerard van Swieten had suddenly been present as well. “I came as quick as I could,” the court physician had stated with a quick bow, his attention fixed onto Maria Theresia, who had since rolled onto her side, one hand pressed against her stomach. “Your Majesty, I believe it to be wiser if you were to...”

Franz Stephan had nodded before Gerard van Swieten had finished speaking; not only would it be much more comfortable for his wife if he would not be present during the examination but he had known that he had not been far from losing the bit of composure that he had left. After one last, lingering look at Maria Theresia he had turned away and had bolted rather than strode out of the room, claiming the first chair he had spotted in the antechamber for himself to fall into it.

His breathing had come in shallow huffs as if he had just finished running a long distance and even though his eyes had hurt from the way that he had pressed the balls of his hand against them, he had not eased up on the pressure. He had not wanted to lose his mask, had not wanted to allow the tears that had risen into his eyes to fall but with everything that he had apparently been aware of, Franz Stephan should have known that trying to fight against them would be in vain - he had not been sitting for more than half a minute before they had broken out of him. Removing his hands from his eyes, Franz Stephan had planted his palms over his face to safe at least a tiny bit of dignity for himself when further tears had forced their way out of his eyes as he had muttered one desperate, overwrought prayer after another into the silence of the antechamber. He had begged God for mercy, for a miracle while cursing him at the same time. It had all seemed to go so well... and it had utterly destroyed him when he had realised that the thrill of anticipation for another child had since established itself in his heart without him having really noticed it. _I begged you to let us have this one, I begged you and you did not listen!_

“Sire?”

Albeit well familiar with the baritone voice of his first valet, Franz Stephan had flinched nonetheless and had hurried to wipe at his face as he had leaned back into his chair, staring at the wetness on his palms as if it had been disgusted by them. He had not answered verbally, simply because he had not trusted his voice to be steady enough for him to use it, had instead nodded and beckoned Wilhelm over to him with a gesture of his hand. “How is my wife?”, Franz Stephan had whispered after the valet had stood in front of him in silence for a good few seconds.

“Monsieur van Swieten will come and talk to you in a short while, Sire.” He had heard him and at the same time had understood nothing. How late the evening had since turned he had not known, how and where his son had currently been had, too, been something that he had been unaware of and with the uncertainty whether he would see his beloved wife smile again it had all been too heavy of a burden on his mind for him to think. “Is there something that I can do, Sire?”

“No.” Franz Stephan had shifted in his chair to prop his elbows up onto his thighs and bury his face in his hands anew; at least he had not been forced to put on an act in front of his valet. “There is nothing that you can do.” _There is nothing that anyone can do_ , he had added in the silence of his mind, drawing in a deep intake of breath and letting it out through his nose to regain his composure.

What Wilhelm had told him had proven right - the door had been opened a mere few minutes later and the court physician had come into sight, his face a mask of perfect inexpressiveness that had made the situation all the more unbearable for Franz Stephan. “Your Majesty.”

“How is she?” Mentally preparing himself for another harsh blow of the sort that he had been forced to endure many times in his life, he had stood from the chair he had been sitting in to clench his hands into fists behind his back without it being obvious.

“Her Majesty is sleeping,” Gerard van Swieten had answered, keeping his head bowed for a moment. “She is very weak.”

Franz Stephan had clenched his jaw - as if the doctor had not known what he had needed to hear. “And the... child?”

“Her Majesty did not suffer from a loss of the pregnancy, Your Majesty.”

His breath had hitched before he could have prevented it and he had breathed out a disbelieving “What?” as he had stared at the physician with what he had known had been a dangeriously vulnerable expression.

“Her Majesty’s cervix is still closed, Your Majesty. Her Majesty did not lose the child.” The wave of immense relief that had washed over him had turned his knees weak and he had needed to sit back down. His relief had, however, been rather short-lived. “But there have been... complications, Your Majesty. It appears that the foetus has sunken down into Her Majesty’s pelvis and thus caused her immense discomfort this afternoon.”

 _“Nothing is wrong,” Maria Theresia had answered and she had groaned once more as she had leaned back into her chair, pressing her palms into her stomach._ That must have been it, and Franz Stephan had been stupid enough to leave for his menagerie instead. “What does it mean?”

The physician had fidgeted with a cloth in his hand and if Franz Stephan would have searched for eye contact, he would have noticed how the older man had been looking at a spot somewhere next to his shoulder. “It is a circumstance that must not be taken too lightly, Your Majesty,” Gerard van Swieten had answered after a short pause, “I... I am in no position to order...”

“You are,” Franz Stephan had cut him off, shooting an almost desperate look at the court physician. “As her private physician you are very well in the position and I order you to say what my wife has to do.”

“Her Majesty ought to stay on her feet for no more than an hour a day, Your Majesty. There will be an immense risk of the child being born premature if Her Majesty should decide to act different. Her Majesty will be forced to spend the majority of the day in bed, Your Majesty. For the rest of the pregnancy.”

Franz Stephan had nodded slowly as his mind had tried to proceed what he had just been told. “She will not like that,” he had muttered and when he had chuckled, the valet as well as the physician had joined in.

“I doubt that Her Majesty will,” Wilhelm had said, “but I have no doubts that Her Majesty will do whatever it required to assure that your child will be born healthy, Sire.”

“Her Majesty is very weak at the moment.”

“I have tried to tell her that she was forcing herself to work too much, but she did not want to listen. When I saw her this afternoon her forehead felt feverous and she complained about pain in her lower stomach.”

“’Tis was no fever, Your Majesty,” Gerard van Swieten had retorted, a placatory tone audible in his voice, “Her Majesty was close to a point of exhaustion and Her Majesty’s body was trying to cope with the strain, Your Majesty.”

Running both of his hands over his face, Franz Stephan had huffed what only could have been described as an overwhelmed laugh. “So she will have to stay in bed?”

“For Her Majesty to be on her feet for one hour every day is the most that I can stand for with my name, Your Majesty. It will pose a great risk for the lives of both Her Majesty and the unborn royal child if Her Majesty will not take better care of herself.”

“Is she aware...?”

“I have told Her Majesty the same things that I have told you, Your Majesty.”

Franz Stephan had not answered. He had not been able to. Feeling as if someone had placed a ton of bricks onto his chest, he had leaned back into the chair that he had been slumped in and had simply stared at the floor, feeling his hands trembling as he had fixed his gaze onto the floor.

“What else is there to be done to improve Her Majesty’s health, Monsieur?”

The physician had answered, but Franz Stephan had not heard him over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. Maria Theresia had not lost the child - and even though Gerard van Swieten had not said directly, Franz Stephan had known that his wife had been on the very brink of suffering from another miscarriage. They could be losing that child as well. “May I see her?”

That he had interrupted the conversation which had been going on between the valet and the court physician, he had cared very little about. “Her Majesty is sleeping, Your Majesty.”

“That was not my question.”

If Franz Stephan would have looked up, he would have noticed the look that the physician and the valet had exchanged. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Without saying another words he had heaved himself up onto his feet, had patted Wilhelm’s shoulder and had made his way to the door at the far back wall of the antechamber, not knocking before opening it. The hushed voices that he had been able to made out through the wood of the door had come from the three chambermaids that had been present in the room. One of them had held a cloth to Maria Theresia’s forehead while the other two had, with uttermost gentleness, washed her arms and legs in order for her to not wake up. They had all stopped in their tracks when Franz Stephan had closed the door behind him and had greeted him with an unison “Your Majesty”; he had wordlessly allowed them to continue their work by raising his hands in front of him. His pace had been slow as he had walked over to Maria Theresia’s bed, his chest feeling unusually tight as he had walked over to where his wife had been resting on her bed in an almost perfect picture of peace. The pained creases on her face, which had worried him so greatly when he had seen her that afternoon, had no longer been present and he had reached out to place his hand on top of his wife’s hand for a few precious moments.

It would have been a lie if he would have said that he would not have liked to stay at her bedside, but she had been asleep and their son had still been out and about. The boy had not been supposed to witness it and Franz Stephan could have smacked himself when he had swiftly moved through one of the endlessly long corridors of the Hofburg, Joseph should have been his first priority in that situation. He should have ordered Wilhelm to stay in the dining hall with his son. Joseph had not been supposed to witness another one of his mother’s medical episodes; Franz Stephan had not forgotten how grave the child’s reaction to his wine-induced hangover had been.

The hope of Joseph having retreated to his bedroom had been dashed when Franz Stephan had found the bed untouched and the room empty and the maid that had been about to put freshly cleaned nightdresses into the chest of drawers had not seen the young prince either. He had been somewhat at a loss about where to look for his son - the palace had been more than spacious enough for the boy to find a corner to hide in and while he would, in a way, have liked to turn Joseph around and smack his backside for making him search as if they had been playing a game once he would have found him, he had shaken his head to get that idea out of his head. His son had not run off because he had been a brat, he had run off because he had been _scared_ by seeing his mother collapsed on the ground. Franz Stephan had come to a stand once he had reached the main staircase and had drawn in a deep breath, stemming his hands into his sides and slowly exhaling through his nose.

Maria Theresia would have his head if he would not have found and console their son and while he had been rather aversed to notify the guards, he had known that he would eventually have no other choice than to demand help in the search for Joseph. Franz Stephan had sighed once again before he had turned and had strode back to where he had come from - that the boy had not seeked hiding in the conference hall or the other official rooms had been out of question for him. He had just walked past the door that had lead to Maria Theresia’s tea room when he had perceived what he had believed to have been a coughed sob and he had stood on the spot for a few seconds, unsure whether he had heard right. When the same sound had emerged once more, Franz Stephan had set into motion and had walked over to the door. A smile had tugged at his lips even if he had not felt like smiling; Joseph had been clever enough to go where he would not be found in an instant. “Joseph?”

Franz Stephan had made sure to close the door quietly behind him in order to not startle the small figure that he had been able to make out in the armchair that had stood near the fireplace. The boy had not answered, which had been expected, and Franz Stephan had felt a stab in his chest at the sight of it. It would have been an entirely differend situation if it would have only been himself that had been doomed to bear the weight of Maria Theresia’s suffering. He had not attempted to reach Joseph with words as he had crossed the room to get to his side and the boy, who had hidden his face in his knees, had shifted when Franz Stephan had squatted down and had put one hand onto the feet that the boy had pulled up onto the seat of the armchair. “Joseph, come here... It is alright, I am here now.” His son had been shaken by another sob and it had sounded just so _heartbroken_ that it had positively torn Franz Stephan apart as well. He had not waited until there had come a stirring from the boy, had instead risen back into an upright position and had closed his arms around the rolled-up form of his son; his fear of Joseph not wanting it had turned out to have been in vain when the boy had melted into the touch within an instant. “It is alright,” he had whispered as he had felt his son’s arms wrapping around his middle and a pair of small hands grasping onto the back of his jacket. “Shhh, it is alright.”

“I-Is Ma-ama going to d-die?”

“No, my love.” Franz Stephan had pressed a kiss onto the top of Joseph’s head, “Your mother will not die.”

Joseph had merely been shaken by another sob and had continued to hold onto his father’s jacket as if his life had depended on it. “P-Pro-omis?”, the boy had whispered between his sobs and his father had muttered his answer into his hair, moving his hand over his back in soothing circles.

How long Franz Stephan had stood in his wife’s tea room with his crying son in his arms he had not known, but it had been late into the evening when he had brought Joseph to his room. The boy had been utterly exhausted, his eyes swollen and rubbed sore and his breath had still been hitching long after his last tears had dried. Franz Stephan’s lips had curled into a smile as he had pulled the covers over his son. “Sleep now, my love,” he had said with a low and gentle voice, smiling down at Joseph and running a hand through the boy’s curls. “You must not worry, it will all be well in the morning.” His son had looked at him with wide, tear-filled eyes and Franz Stephan had known that it would not have been understatement if he would have said that Joseph had clinged onto the words the same way that he had held onto him. But he had not lied to him - it had, after all, been well.

Maria Theresia had spend the entire two consecutive days in bed to regain the strength that she had needed to be able to leave it for an hour and she had taken her restrainment to bed better than Franz Stephan had expected her to. She had not tried to argue with the physican and neither had she fallen back to the self-hating and self-destroying manner that had scared him so greatly before, had instead rested, propped up onto an entire mountain of pillows, as Gerard van Swieten had ordered her to do. Franz Stephan had expected to carry the burden of her duties on top of his, though had not been surprised when he had come to visit her one afternoon and had found her working on a file from the stack that had been placed on the bed beside her. “I will go crazy if I do not have something to do,” she had said upon being asked, “Swieten told me that it is fine,” she had lifted the piece of parchment demonstratively, “as long as I do not get up on my own.”

The hour that Maria Theresia had been allowed to leave bed every day for had almost solely been used for her refreshment or a possibility for her to spend valuable time with her son. Franz Stephan had tried to stay at her side as much as his duties had allowed him to, including the duty of being a father to Joseph who had needed him allt the more ever since the incident, and had tried to not think about the months that they would be forced to live in this limbo before the end would show itself.

Whether it would be one of happiness or utter devestation, no one had been able to tell him, but it had seemed as if Maria Theresia’s condition had stabilized itself once December and the year of 1749 had been over, Franz Stephan had been in the position to admire how beautifully his wife had since begun to carry the pregnancy. None of the dressed that she had worn had concealed the curve of her stomach any longer and the more her stomach had grown, the more Franz Stephan had yearned for his wife’s presence. It had been said yearning that had made it easy for him to leave the councils with his scientific advisors, to which Gerard van Swieten had belonged as well, when Maria Theresia had requested to see him and he had not kept a count on how many hours he had spend at her bedside, simply holding her hand and sitting by as she had worked through her daily amount of files or talking about whatever she had wanted to talk with him about. There had been many speculations going around court, as it had happened with every prior pregnany.

New rumors had broken out every time that Maria Theresia had been on her feet and out and about, most of them circling around whether it would be a prince or a princess that Her Majesty had been carrying. Franz Stephan had not cared, had not _dared_ to think about whether his wife had been pregnant with another daughter or another son for he had feared that he would, in a way, conjure a bad outcome if he would invest too much time thinking and dreaming about the many _what if_ s. He had been thankful that Maria Theresia had been convalescing as well as the court physician had stated she had been - because it had, after all, been his wife who he had valued the most beside their son and it had thus been not before January had passed, too, that Franz Stephan had dared to ask her.

They had both been on Maria Theresia’s bed, with him lying beside her so that he had been able to look at her face while resting his hand on the swell of her stomach at the same time, when he had decided to ignore his fear as good as he only could have done it. “Theresia?”

“Yes?”

“What do you think it will be?”

She had moved her eyes from where it had been fixed onto a page of the book that she had been reading and from the shine that had been present in her eyes, he had known that he had felt no less emotional than he had been. “I am carrying low, so I would agree with what the midwives have told me. That it will be another boy.” Franz Stephan had held her gaze for a few seconds before he had looked down at his hand, the thumb of which had not stopped the gentle caress, and had hummed a sound that could have meant more than one thing. He would have been more than fine with another son, of course, but... “I do wish that it will be a girl.”

Maria Theresia had muttered the words with such a low voice that Franz Stephan would have missed it if he would not have listened for a possible answer from her, and he had not needed to look up to know that tears had since risen into her eyes. He had done so nonetheless, softly clicking his tongue once he had found his suspicion confirmed. “My love...” Maria Theresia had clicked her tongue as well, though it had sounded much harder then when he had done it, so as if she had been mad or disappointed with herself, and had put the book down beside her to wipe at his eyes with rather rough motions. “Theresia-”

“It is stupid of me, I know.” Suppressing a sigh, Franz Stephan had sat up. He had not been annoyed with her - it would have been most unfair if he would have been, but he had wished that he would have been able to take her worries off her shoulders and onto his own. “It it just...”, she had sighed, “I miss having a little girl, François. I miss it so much... I miss them so much.”

The last memory of Maria Elisabeth, their first and very much beloved child child, had nearly been over a decade old and so utterly painful that he had nearly banished them out of his consciousness ever since they had broken through the surface during his wine-induced outburst of emotions in August. “I know, I miss them too.”

Maria Theresia had repeated the gesture of wiping at her eyes, only for new tears to rise into them. Her breath had hitched as she had spoken again, “I will not love a boy any less than I would love another girl...”

“Hush, I know that,” Franz Stephan had moved until he had been able to cup her face and turn it towards him, his thumb wiping at the unwanted wetness on his wife’s cheeks. “It will be a blessing regarding of its gender.”

The corners of her mouth had tugged into a smile, one that had not quite reached her eyes. “The biggest blessing.”

Their eyes had met and Franz Stephan had leaned in slowly to see whether she had been willing, and he had smiled at the sound of her breath hitching once more after their lips had touched. It had, however, not been due to the kiss that he had initiated, something that he had noticed when it had been followed by a breathless gasp. “What is it? Are you in pain? Shall I go and notify-”

“It kicked me.”

“What?” Maria Theresia’s eyes had been tear-filled when she had looked up at him, but other than before they had not been tears of grief. Franz Stephan had realised it within an instant. “What?” Stunned as he had been, he had merely sat by when Maria Theresia had taken one of his hands and had laid it onto a spot near to her left side, pressing it down softly.

“Can you feel it?”

He had been about to negate her question, had already opened his mouth to do so and had been stunned into silence when he had indeed felt a slight bump against his palm. _It had been the first time in eight years that he had felt a child of his moving inside of her_. His vision had been blurred as soon as that realisation had flashed over his mind and he had still been stunned into silence as his head had snapped up to stare at Maria Theresia, who had smiled at him despite the tears that had been leaving her eyes. His child. “I can feel it,” he had whispered as if he had not been able to believe it, looking back down at his hand that had still been pressed down by one of his wife’s. “Oh, quel miracle c'est.” Maria Theresia had let go of his hand to place it onto his forearm instead and Franz Stephan had moved his hand a bit further down her side, waiting for another sign of his child. And indeed: he had felt the same bump twice more before it had ebbed down. Franz Stephan had kept his hand in place as he had turned onto his knees to move further down the bed. “Mon enfant bien-aimé...” He had heard Maria Theresia laughing a choking laugh above him as he had straightened the fabric of her dress over the smell of her stomach to kiss it once, twice and finally a third time. “Mon enfant bien-aimé, je ne peux pas attendre de pouvoir te tenir dans mes bras.”

“Van Swieten estimated that it will be due in June,” she had whispered and Franz Stephan had closed his eyes when he had felt her fingers in his hair, combing through his curls.

“I think that Joseph is more patient than I am.”

“While I cannot wait either I am curious as for how I will manage to kicking against my bladder. I am no longer as young as I have been then.”

“You are still young, my love. And still as beautiful as the day that I fell in love with you.”

“And you still know how to talk to me in just the right way, François.”

They had both laughed and to hear his wife laughing had lifted off some of the burden that had been weighting down on his chest. “I love you.” Her hand had continued to move through his hair, her fingers as gentle as they had ever been and Franz Stephan had squeezed his eyes shut as he had kissed the precious and so desperately desired swell of her stomach once more. “Je vous aime tous les deux de tout mon cœur.”

It had seemed that time had went by faster the more Maria Theresia’s condition had improved and before Franz Stephan had known it, March had arrived in all its glory to chase away the remainder of winter, to wake the flowers and the trees and to lift everyone’s spirit considerably - even Maria Theresia’s, who had still been strictly confined to bed for the large majoriy of the day. Albeit the warmth of the sun and the only scarcely clouded sky had done a lot to better Franz Stephan’s mood as well, it had been the fact that the court had moved to Schönbrunn in the second week of the month that had kept his good spirits upright. He and his family would stay in Hietzing until the end of October and while the question of the eventual outcome of the pregnancy had haunted him, the garden and menagerie of Schönburnn had been a blessing on their own. Maria Theresia’s stomach had become bigger and bigger, a secure proof of the life that had been growing inside of her, and when she would wake Franz Stephan in the middle of the night and ask him to get her whatever the child had desired, he would do it without a single word of complaint. He had even woken up on his own to ask her whether she had needed anything from him - he had, after all, spend too much time thinking about how much he would have given to experience it again.

The only thing that had dampened Maria Theresia’s as well as Franz Stephan’s mood had been the fact that Gerard van Swieten had not granted her a permission to visit the garden. Maria Theresia had loved the garden, Franz Stephan had known that she had done so ever since she had been old enough to walk on her own, and it had somewhat broken his heart every time that he had witnessed her laying in bed and gazing out of the window with an unmistakable longing in her eyes. The physician had stated that her climbing the many staircases would pose a danger he had not wanted to evaluate and so Maria Theresia had not argued, even though it had been torture for her to not be allowed out of bed with the weather since having turned better and warmer.

Franz Stephan had even been able to hear the laughters of Joseph and the children that their son had been playing with in the garden when he had been sitting behind the desk of his study and he had not wanted to think about how bad it must have been for his wife. It had, however, only been after Joseph’s birthday that he had come up with a possible solution. Elisabeth Christine, Maria Theresia’s mother, had been unable to walk from the long-term effects of the fertility treatments that she had went through in order to get pregnant as many times as it had only been possible and Maria Theresia had comissioned multiple wheelchairs for her mother. But with Elisabeth Christine residing in the palace of Hetzendorf, the most of the chairs had stood around without use and just as he had been about to audibly exclaim how stupid it had been that no one had gotten the idea sooner, he had realised _why_ no one had mentioned it yet.

For Maria Theresia to be reliant on a wheelchair had been something that his wife never would have admitted, no matter how desperately she had wanted to leave her bed for more than a walk over to the window of her bedroom. Franz Stephan had not thought about it for long, had merely given the instructions to Wilhelm before he had stood from behind his writing desk and had left his study. “You may enter.”

He had not needed to force himself into a smile when he had opened the door of Maria Theresia’s bedroom, holding the tray that he had brought with him from his quick detour to the kitchen. “I brought something for you, my love.”

“François.”

Maria Theresia had seemed honestly surprised to see him - he had mentioned that he had needed to work until midday and thus would not come and visit her. She had set down the pieces of paper that she had flicked through and Franz Stephan’s smile had shifted into a grin at the sigh of his wife’s eyes growing wide at the sight of the plate that he had held out for her. “Oh!”

“I thought that you would appreciate some of your... favorite sweets, my love.”

“You mean the child’s favorites,” she had said chirped and had eagerly taken the place, picking up the first piece and plopping it into her mouth.

“Of course.” Franz Stephan had moved around the bed to sit down beside her, cupping the back of her head to pull her closer and kiss her forehead. “How are you feeling, my love?”

“As fine as I can be,” she had answered, picking up a second treat.

“That is good to hear.” Franz Stephan had driven his fingers through Maria Theresia’s hair in a soft and repeating motion, his own smile faltering a bit when he had easily noticed that her words had not been as true as he would have liked them to be.

“Is Joseph outside?”

He had nodded, “He is playing with the other children.”

 _The other children_ had been sons and daughters of high-ranking ministers or courtiers, not the children that Franz Stephan had wanted his son to play with - it had, after all, always been his dream of having an entire flock of children... and not only his. “That is good for him,” she had almost whispered and had leaned back down onto her pillows, “he must enjoy himself.”

Franz Stephan had not been able to withstand the sight for more than a few seconds, “I have a surprise for you, Theresia.” Her gaze had turned towards him and he had squeezed her hand. “And what would it be?” “I will take you onto a stroll in the garden.”

“What?”

“You have heard me right.”

He had moved to stand from the bad, but she had used the hold she had on his hand to pull him back down. “But... it is not possible.”

“It is.”

“Van Swieten said that it is not.”

Suddenly a bit less certain about his idea, he had bitten onto his lower lip and had sat himself down once more. “Not if you do not walk on your own,” he had said with a low voice, holding her hand in his as he had waited for her reaction. Oh, Maria Theresia had understood what he had tried to get at without him having to speak it out.

“I am not an invalid!”

“No one is seeing you as one.”

She had drawn in a deep breath, had kept it in and had brought it out in a huff. “Alright then, if it is the only chance for me to get out of this damned room.”

Franz Stephan had kissed her forehead and had reassured her that it would be fine before he had left her side to see whether Wihelm had finished his order. The valet had, and not more than a handful of minutes had passed until a pair of guards had carried Maria Theresia, in her mother’s wheelchair, down the grand escalier. That every pair of eyes had been on Maria Theresia had not been something that neither of them had expected, but Franz Stephan had not been ready to see his wife... vulnerable to the looks she had received and he had reached out to take her hand while she had been carried outside. The guards and Franz Stephan’s valet had left them as soon as the wheels of the wheelchair had come in touch with the gravel stones that had marked the pathway of the garden. “Theresia?”

“I am good,” she had answered after a few seconds. “Thank you, François. Thank you so much.”

“It is nothing that you must thank me for,” he had muttered and had leaned down to kiss the top of her head. Pushing the wheelchair over the gravel stones had turned out to be quite difficult, but Franz Stephan had made sure that his exertion had not been noticable. Maria Theresia had seemed more relaxed than he had seen her in a long time, had kept her eyes closed and her face turned towards the sun. There had not been a reason for them to speak a lot. Franz Stephan had pushed the wheelchair until they had reached the basin in the far back of the garden, one of the newest addition to their grounds that she had not seen before.

“It is bigger than I expected it to be,” Maria Theresia had said with a soft snort and he had laughed.

“It is just as large as the plans stated it, my love.”

“As am I.”

“What do you mean?”

She had laughed again, a sound that had warmed his chest, and had looked down at the swell of her stomach, laying both of her hand onto it. “I am bigger than I though I would be.”

“You are not _big_ , Theresia.”

“Are you lying to me, François?”

He had moved around the wheelchair to be able to get a look at her face and had, considering that they had been alone, squatted down in front of her. “I would never do so, my love, it would be an affront. You are still the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes upon.” That he had not been able to remember how her stomach had looked during the other pregnancies, he had not mention. “If they said that you are carrying low, it is only natural that you are bigger.”

Nodding once, Maria Theresia had followed an inivisible line on her curved belly. “I always believed that... a girl would kick my bladder more, both of them had.”

“Is it kicking your bladder a lot?”

Another nod. “Yes, but I am carrying low. I think that it will be a surprise.”

“A surprise will be just fine, my love.” He had brough his hands up to have them join with Maria Theresia’s, his heart somersaulting when he had felt one of the movements that had, in his wife’s words, increased rapidly. “I cannot wait to meet you, mon petit. Papa t'aime déjà tellement.”


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Franz Stephan is speaking a lot of French in this chapter (because he's, you know, a frenchman haha) and I apologise if the French I wrote happens to be horrible xD I can't believe that I'm already at the end with this story, I loved the time that I spend working on it and... oh, I've grown too fond of it! <3
> 
> Also: this chapter is _huge_ , but I didn't want to split it so enjoy this ~14,5k long finale (I put in little breaks, tho) :-D
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**May 1750**

During the last trimester of Maria Theresia’s pregnancy, life had shown itself with the best of its side to Franz Stephan and his family, a side so good that Franz Stephan had caught himself living without the constant shadow of fear and grief hovering above his head.

It had still crept up to him when he would lie in bed or sit and think in the solitude of his study, like it had done for the last decade, but when he had seen his wife happier than she had been for years, it had put a healing balm onto the wound on his soul that had been festering ever since they had lost the first one of their children. The fact that Maria Theresia had indeed seemed less worried and more happy had not only been a surprise to Franz Stephan, but the court physician and midwives alike. He would not have gone so far as to state that he had believed her grief and, most importantly, her immense worry to have flown off her as if it had been nothing, but it had been unmistakable that she had been content and that her smile had been a honest one. Whenever Franz Stephan had seen her, Maria Theresia had been smiling, and whenever he had asked about her well-being, she had stated that the child had been making its presence known by kicking and moving inside of her at nearly every given moment. She had been smiling widely every time that she had told him about the tiniest sign of life that she had felt from their unborn child and had used every given opportunity to take Franz Stephan by the wrist and guide his hand onto her stomach, asking whether he had been able to feel the movements as well and even though her eyes had shined, Franz Stephan had not missed the desperation behind her words.

That Maria Theresia had been anxious despite her apparent happiness had been more than just understandable. Their second child, Maria Anna, had, after all, died the night before she had been born and it had not only been his wife who had, figuratively speaking, clinged to the fetal movements as if they had been a lifeline. In a way, they had been just that. A lifeline and a sign that _hope_ had been within their reach, that their dream of having a family had not been as impossible as it had seemed to them after they had lost three of their four beloved children. It had not only been them who had been healed by the time of long-awaited peace, but their son as well. The change that Franz Stephan had seen in the behaviour of his son had been endearing and heartbreaking at the same time.

Joseph had been uttermost concerned about his mother’s health, had asked about her practically the first thing in the morning and had even gone so far as to excuse himself during his lessons to slip into Maria Thersia’s bedroom. Maria Theresia had scolded him for staying away from his studies, but had, in the end, always pulled him close for a quick cuddle before she had ordered him to go back with a gentle swat to his backside. Seeing Joseph being so concerned and understanding had been heartwearming, but that warmth had disappeared as soon as Franz Stephan would think about the fact that his son, as a nine-year-old, had not been supposed to worry about the health and well-being of his mother as much as he had done it. All that Franz Stephan had wanted had been for his son, who he had believed to be his only child for many, many years, to have a perfectly peaceful childhood and he had found himself thinking about his son more often then that the worry about his wife had no longer been as overwhelming as he had grown used to.

“What is it, François?”

He must had sighed without having been aware of it and had thus drawn Maria Theresia’s attention onto him, sighing once again before he had answered. “I have been thinking.”

The bedroom had been suffused in the silver light of the moon that had shined through the gap between curtains, a light which had allowed Franz Stephan to make out the features of his wife’s face where she had been lying beside him. With one had splayed over her impressively curves stomach and the other tucked underneath her head she had appeared so peaceful that he had not wanted to disturb her by voicing his thoughts out. “Thinking?” Maria Theresia had snorted a laugh, and Franz Stephah had joined her for a few seconds before they had both turned serious. “About what, mon cœr.” She had pulled out her hand from underneath her head to reach out and tug an unruly curl away from his face and behind his ear.

It had by all means been a small gesture, though one that had been enough to cause Franz Stephan’s chest to be filled with the warmth that no one but his beloved wife had been able to bring up in him. “About Joseph,” he had answered, his voice lower than the one that he had spoken with before. The humming sound that had followed from Maria Theresia had been one of agreement, and she had continued the motion of brushing the curl away every time that it had jumped back into its place.

“And what is it about our son are you thinking about?”

“I...”, he had sighed anew, though deeper and longer that time, as he had shifted in his position to cross his arms behind his head. “I do not know, I just have to think about him.”

“He has changed.”

Surprised by what she had said, Franz Stephan had turned his head to look at her. “Do you think so?”

Maria Theresia had nodded and he had been able to see, behind the blue of her eyes, that her mind had been busy as well. “Yes, but I wish that he would not have changed.”

“I know.”

“I want him to be a child,” she had whispered, “I do not want him to be so grown, François. I should be caring about him and...”

His heart had somersaulted when her voice had cracked and she had trailed off, bringing up her hands to hide her face behind them. “Theresia.”

With his eyes wide and fixed onto her, Franz Stephan had hurried to roll over onto his side and gently reach out for her wrists to nudge his hands away from her face. She had not been crying, but if he would have judged by the shine in her eyes the tears had only waited to break free. “It is no reason for you to cry...”

“We ought to protect him.”

“I will talk to him tomorrow,” he had answered with an equally low voice, stroking the sensitive insides of Maria Theresia’s wrists. “And if I find out that there is something that he wants us to do, we will do it.”

She had nodded, and the sound that had escaped her had stood somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “It is the pregnancy, François. It has softened my brain.”

“I am well familiar with it.” Franz Stephan had moved closer until he had been able to kiss her forehead.

“But he is no longer my little boy. I do not think that he wants to...”

“Theresia, you are breaking your mind over something that is not worth it.” While Franz Stephan had felt remorse for the change that Joseph had underwent and while he had wished that it would not have happened, it had not burneded upon him enough to urge him into tears. But considering that he had managed to keep himself from crying during the funerals of their children while Maria Theresia had broken down beside him, he should not have been surprised by the sight of tears swimming in front of the blue of her eyes.

She had clicked her tongue, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I cannot help it.”

“I know.”

Blindly following an invisible circle on her curved stomach with one finger, Maria Theresia had blinked hard to get rid of the unwanted tears that had claimed their presence in her eyes. “I wonder how he will react to another child,” she had muttered, so low as if Franz Stephan had not been meant to understand it. “I do not want him to believe that we love him any less.”

“He is not a stupid boy, Theresia.”

“I did not say that he is, but I... I know how how difficult it could be for him to adapt to it. He has been our only child for nine years, François.”

 _Nine years, good God how had it been nine years already._ “You must not think about it too much,” Franz Stephan had retorted, hoping that he would be successful with his attempt to calm his wife. The prospect of her worrying too much, and thus putting a strain on their unborn child and her health, had been the one that Franz Stephan had dreaded the most. “It will not do you any good, my love.” He had laid his hand on top of Maria Theresia’s that had been splayed over her stomach, and their gazes had found each other without much searching. “I cannot wait to see how he will react to his brother,” Franz Stephan had whispered and his heart had skipped a beat when his wife had smiled at him before she had looked down where her had had been resting on hers.

“I am aware of what the midwives have told me but... I believe that it will be a sister to Joseph that I will be giving birth to.”

 _Oh, how he would have loved to have another daughter_. “You know that I will not differentiate between a girl or another boy, Theresia. To me it does not matter.”

The smile that had grown on Maria Theresia’s face had told him that she had not forgotten what he had told her when she had announced the first pregnancy to him all those years ago. “Of course I do.”

Unable to resist the temptation, Franz Stephan had sat up, had moved further down the bed until Maria Theresia’s stomach had been right in front of his face and had cupped it with both of his hands. “Papa ne peut pas attendre d'arriver à vous rencontrer, mon petit,” he had whispered as he had leaned over to press a lingering kiss onto that promising swell. “Je promets qu'il n'y aura pas un moment où tu ne seras pas aimé de moi.”

Maria Theresia had laughed, a soft and gentle sound had caused Franz Stephan to smile as well. “June will come soon.”

“J'aurai attendu assez longtemps...” He had allowed himself to fall back into his mother tongue in moments of privacy, when court protocol had not been considered, and had looked up at his wife’s face as he had kissed her stomach once more. He had been rewarded with what had felt like a kick from the unborn child’s foot. “Vous écoutez?”

“It somehow always knows when you are near,” Maria Theresia had laughed, “and I am the one who feels it every time.”

“ _Vous serez un fauteur de troubles, ne pas vous?_ Kicking your mother...”

“Joseph certainly did not kick me so much.”

Her comment certainly had not been meant to his a sore spot of his, but Franz Stephan had felt his smile faltering and had hurried to lean his cheek against her stomach, thus enabled to turn his face away from here. He had not forgotten just how much he had missed in the months that Maria Theresia had been pregnant with their son. They had truly been some of the hardest months of his life. They had practically lived two different lives, had spoken a few rare words that had as good as never circled around the child, Joseph, that had been growing inside of her at that point and had distanced each other so much that Maria Theresia had not even allowed him to feel her stomach during the last period of her pregnancy. _She had not even notified him when Joseph had been born because she had thought that he had not cared enough about her and the child._ Closing his eyes, he had concentrated on the moment, on the feeling of Maria Theresia’s stomach, which had been barely hidden by the thin nightdress that she had been wearing, and Maria Theresia’s fingers that had been stroking through his hair in a repetative movement.

“François?”

He should have known that he never would have been able to hide his tempestuousness from her, and since he had known all to well that she would understand him without any words, Franz Stephan had merely pressed his cheek further into her stomach - careful, of course, as he would have been scared of causing damage otherwise, and had wrapped his arms a bit tighter around her. The possibility of them losing the child had been enough to rob him of his breath. It had been an endless circle, really, of days when he had been better and single moments that had torn it all down again. “Je ne peux pas supporter de perdre l'un de vous, Theresia. Je ne peux pas _._ ” She had not answered, and he had guessed that she simply had not been able to. “You and Joseph... you are everything that I have. I would be nothing without the both of you.”

“And we would be nothing without you.”

Two pairs of tear-filled eyes had met and had not let go of each other as Franz Stephan had sat up to simply look down at her with open admiration. “I love you, Theresia. You are showing it to me every day anew.” Due to the darkness of the room it had not been possible for him to make out as much of her face as he would have liked to, but he had been certain that the faintest of blushed had flushed her cheeks and with that certainty had leaned down to capture her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. “Thank you for being the love of my life.” That Franz Stephan had confessed his love to her had been anything but a new thing, but it had been the unusual depth of his words that had caused Maria Theresia’s breath to hitch in the way that had told Franz Stephan that she had taken what he had said more than just to heart. Their lips had found each other blindly and while the moment had been loaded with a tension that had caused the air to buzz around them, their kisses had not heated up.

It had not been the occasion to indulge themselves into lovemaking, not when Maria Theresia had struggled with her late-term pregnancy and not when Franz Stephan’s heart had been pouring the vulnerable feelings out as much as it had done then. They had eventually broken apart and she had, after Franz Stephan had kept hovering above her, placed a small array of kisses over his face, staring by the corner of his mouth and and ending it by letting her lips linger on the sensitive spot underneath his jaw. “How lucky I am to have you, François,” Maria Theresia had whispered, her breath only intensifying the tingle that her kisses had left behind on his skin and he had closed his eyes when she had brought up her hands to cradle his face. “And Joseph is so very lucky to have a father like you.”

“I know that I make more mistakes when it comes to him than I would like to... I’m trying my best to not make the same mistakes that my father made.”

Her thumb had brushed over his cheekbone, “I do know that, love, and I am sure that Joseph will know it too once he is old enough for you to tell him such things.”

Franz Stephan had lowered to steal himself yet another kiss before he had plopped down onto the mattress beside her with a groan. “He is nine years old, Theresia. _Nine_. I feel old.” Maria Theresia had snorted and had returned one had to her stomach, clicking her tongue in what could have been annoyance. “What is it?”

“I fear that I will be forced to go through those last eight weeks without any sleep.”

“Is it kicking so much?”

She had nodded, and indeed - when she had pulled her nightdress up to reveal her stomach, Franz Stephan had been able to see a bump appearing and disappearing near her navel.

It had been his turn to snort, though in disbelief, when he had laid his palm onto the bump, relishing the feeling of the movements against his hand. He had yearned to be able to feel it for many years, for far too many years, but that the kicking must had felt quite rough from the inside had not been something that he had doubted. “Pourquoi n'accordes-tu pas un peu de repos à ta mère, mon enfant? Elle a besoin de se reposer pour qu'elle puisse vous apporter dans ce monde,” he had said with a purring tone, moving his hand over Maria Theresia’s stomach with a circling motion. That every ounce of love he had harboured in his chest had been audible in his voice, he had not paid a second thought to. He had needed to speak it out and since he had known that his wife had needed the reassurance, he had not held himself back. “Je peux vous assurer que votre frère est très heureux de vous rencontrer. Tellement excité.”

“It is working,” Maria Theresia had gasped above him and when he had looked up, her eyes had been widened in honest surprise. “Keep talking, François. You are calming her down.”

That Maria Theresia had so naturally referred to the child as _her_ while the court physician and the midwives were predicting the birth of a son had caused Franz Stephan’s heart to swell to an extend that had threatened to suffocate him. That he would have loved another son with everything that he had possessed had been out of question, but God had known how greatful he would have been for another chance of having a daughter again. Without really thinking about it, Franz Stephan had talked on. “Je ne sais pas si tu seras un fils ou une fille à moi, mais sois assuré que cela n'aura pas d'importance pour mon amour pour toi. Ta mère et moi avons attendu si longtemps, mon enfant, si longtemps et maintenant que tu es pratiquement à ma portée, les dernières semaines seront difficiles pour ton pauvre vieux père _._ ”

“You are not _old_.”

“Quoi qu'il en soit, je devrai peut-être continuer à vous parler jusqu'à ce que votre mère s'endorme.”

Maria Theresia’s hand had returned to his hair. “Would you... do that for me?”

He had turned his head anew, blinking up at her. “Hm?”

“Talk until...”

She had trailed off, and in the dim light of the moon-lit room Franz Stephan had seen how she had pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Of course, my love.”

“It is just that it is hard to fall asleep when-”

“Hush, I understand.” He had kept his eyes on her face as he had kissed her stomach, “You know that I will do anything to help you.” Maria Theresia had nodded, had shifted on her pillows into what must had been a more comfortable position for her and had closed her eyes as he had returned his attention to her middle. Considering what they had gone through, he had known how precious moments like these had still been and would always be for him. “Alors, mon petit, de quoi vais-je te parler? Bon, ça n'a pas vraiment d'importance tant que vous permettez à votre mère de bien dormir _._ ” The half-asleep snort that his wife had made him smile as well, and he had kissed her stomach simply because he had not been able to kiss her cheek like he would have liked to. “Par où commencer?” Since he had known that it had not mattered what he had talked about, Franz Stephan had allowed himself to tell about the plans hat he had for the rest of the year. He had went on about the plans that he and Nicolas Jadot de Ville-Issey had worked out for the menagerie and the gardens of Schönbrunn and had, once he had been sure that Maria Theresia had indeed fallen asleep, had returned to whisper sweet words of adoration about his wife. “Ta mère est la femme la plus magnifique que j'aie jamais rencontrée de ma vie. Elle ne peut pas supporter de l'entendre si souvent, cependant, car elle rougira et me dira d'arrêter, mais c'est la vérité. Il ne pourrait jamais y avoir d'autre femme pour moi et j'espère que... elle pense la même chose de moi, car je ne sais pas ce que je ferais sans elle _._ ” If someone would have told him that speaking to his unborn child would remove some of the weight that had been resting on his chest, Franz Stephan would have laughed and shaken his head. But it had helped; for there had been things that he would not have been able to talk to anyone else about.

~

For how long he had continued the monologue he had not known and even though it had been anything but comfortable for him, he had ended up falling asleep curled around Maria Theresia from behind, one of his hands splayed over her stomach in a subtile gesture of protection. While March had already passed by them at an incredible speed, April had seemed to have downright flown by them. Despite her progressing pregnancy Maria Theresia had not neglected her duties and had, with the aid of the wheelchair, attended nearly as many conferences and functions as she had done before. Franz Stephan had no longer been the only one who had seen just how she had glowed, how happy she had seemed despite the fact that it had been anything but a risk-free pregnancy.

Gerard van Swieten had circled around her constantly during that time, so as if the court physician had been counting with a medical emergency at every given second and while Franz Stephan had been very much aware of the fact that the physician had simply done so out of habit and experience, it had brought the worry that he had managed to suppress back into the foreground of his life. If they had been condemned to suffer from another loss, it would have been a much harder one the further Maria Theresia’s pregnancy would proceed and the worst thing that Franz Stephan could have imagined for himself as well as his wife had been another stillbirth. How he would manage to live on if it would come to that, if there would be a _fourth_ sarcophaus that he would need to visit, he had not wanted to think about. _If_ he would find a way to live on had been out of question: he still had Joseph, and the his son had needed him. What had helped to keep his mind from getting lost in his immense worry, however, had been the preparations for the celebration that he had initiated for the occasion of Maria Theresia’s thirty-third birthday on the thirteenth of May.

Franz Stephan had wanted it to be a grand series celebration that would be stretched over three days. It had been the least that she had deserved and while, in the past few years, been her most trusted advisors that had organised the celebrations, Franz Stephan had felt the urge to take it onto himself. They had lost too much precious time due to the chasm that had cracked open between them after the premature loss of their children and so he had, with the loyal support of his valet, spend every free minute with the preparations of the festivities. He had wanted them to be as perfect as they only could have been; had sat together with Christop Willibald Gluck, the court composer, for hours in order to pick out the right music and had personally made sure that only the finest wine would be served out in barrels. With what had laid behind them and the uncertainty that they yet had to overcome, Franz Stephan had, unconsciously so, wanted to set a sign by arranging the celebrations for his wife’s birthday. It had required him to spend even more of his time behind the writing desk in his study, but he had not thought about complaining. He had been rather anxious to see how Maria Theresia would react and he had found his thoughts wandering off into that direction the closer the thirteenth of May had come, often staying seated behind his desk long after he had finished working, nursing a glass of wine and allowing his mind to break itself. That he had not done himself any favour he had been very well aware of, he simply had not been able to prevent himself from doing so.

Franz Stephan had not seen as much of his son for the past two weeks as he usually had; the boy had been busy with his lessons and his extracurricular activities. The prospect of Joseph growing up had frightened him more than he ever would have admitted it, for it had showed him how much time had passed by. It had been bittersweet, really, for he had, on the othe side, been excited to find out in what sort of a man his son would grow up into. _A man_. Franz Stephan had just snorted into his nearly empty glass when he had perceived a knock at the door of his study, and he had emptied the remainder of the wine in one go after he had called out a permission for whoever had knocked to enter. His face, lined by creases of worry, had lit up with a smile as soon as Joseph had come into sight. His son had offered him a smile, which had been as shy as always, and Franz Stephan had spread his arms apart in the same way that he had done it ever since his son had begun to walk on his own. Joseph had accepted the invitation, had crossed the room and had jumped onto his father’s lap. They had both laughed when Joseph had wrapped his arms around his neck to hug him. _Good God, how he loved that boy_ , he had thought and had brought up a hand to rub his son’s back. “How have you been today?”

“Good,” Joseph had answered and had, upon having loosened his arms from around Franz Stephan’s neck, plopped down into his lap again. “’M tired.”

Franz Stephan had hummed in agreement, but the hum had died in his throat when he had turned his head to look at the clock. It had been more than two hours past his son’s bedtime. “Why are you still out and about, Joseph?”

“Madame d’Aboville has fallen ill,” the boy had muttered and had nestled against his father’s chest, obviously enjoying the moment of closeness. “I played in my room, and when no one came to bring me to bed...” Oh, Franz Stephan should have been a lot less amused than he had been. The boy had been more than old enough to change into his nightdress and retreat to bed on his own accord; Joseph had known that his bedtime had been a strictly-set rule that he had been meant to keep. He should have been more strict - but Franz Stephan had never been able to do so when it had come to his beloved son, and so a joyous grin had grown on his face when he had wrapped his arm around Joseph with one fast movement, had lifted the boy a good few inches off his lap and had placed an array of almost feathery soft pats onto Joseph’s backside. That he never would have had the heart to hit him, his son had since internalised and had thus giggled and tried to twist away from his father’s not-so-punishing hand with a giggle that had filled out Franz Stephan’s heart. “I am sorry, Papa! I will-I will go to bed!”

Stopping the pretentious onslaught, Franz Stephan had snorted and had drawn his son close to kiss the top of his head. “And you will do so right away, son. Remember that it will be your mother’s birthday tomorrow and if you do not go to bed now I do not know whether you shall be allowed to stay up past your bedtime tomorrow.” It had been a thread as pretentious as the pats on the boy’s bottom had been, but it had been ten times as effective. Joseph’s laughter had ceased and he had looked at his father with wide, vulnerable eyes that had simply forced Franz Stephan draw the boy into his arms again. “Now, I did not say that you are not allowed to.” _Oh please do not look at me with those eyes._ “Come, I shall bring you to bed.” Joseph had since grown too big for him to be carried, and so Franz Stephan had merely taken his son’s hand before the boy could have dashed off on his own. “Did you visit your mother today?”

“Of course I did, Papa. I visited her twice!”, Joseph had retorted with a gasp that could have been one of affront, so as if the possibility of him not having visited his mother in her bedroom had been unfathomable to him. “Not during your lessons, I hope.” A soft pink hue had risen into Joseph’s cheek and the boy had bitten his lip as he had looked down at his feet instead. _Lord give me strength_. Franz Stephan had decided to not comment on it, for he had not forgotten how immense his son’s worry about Maria Theresia had been and so he had merely accompanied Joseph to his room. He had helped the boy out of his attire and into his nightdress, had combed his hair and had sat down at Joseph’s bedside once he had pulled the brocade covers over his son. A smile had grown on his face when he had seen how the boy’s eyelids had turned heavy from one moment to another and he had run his fingers through Joseph’s curls as his son had rubbed at his tired eyes with balled-up fists.

As grown up as his son had liked to act... it had only showed him how young Joseph had still been and as he had continued to move his finger’s through Joseph’s hair, he had been washed away by a memory that had no right of being there in that moment. _He still remembered how Maria Theresia and him had tucked her in that night, how his daughter had smiled at him when he had given her the stuffed animal that she had not been able to sleep without. “Mama.” The smile on Maria Theresia’s face had been a honest one as she had stroked Maria Elisabeth’s brown curls. “You sleep now, mon petit. I do promise that you feel much better tomorrow, alright?” He had kissed their daughter’s too-warm forehead after his wife had done it and had, when he had exited Maria Elisabeth’s room, thrown one last look at her from over his shoulder. Maria Elisabeth had died a few hours later. He had never seen a smile on his daughter’s face again. He had only been able to visit the sarcophagus that they had burried her in twelve years ago._

The memory had been so powerful that it had robbed him of his breath for a good few seconds and while his hand had not stopped in its motion, the smile on his face had since faded away. Joseph had not noticed it. The boy’s eyes had been closed and before panic could have its way with Franz Stephan, he had noticed the rise and fall of his son’s chest. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he had leaned down to kiss his son’s forehead. “Sleep well, my love,” Franz Stephan had whispered, lacking the strength to fight against the indescribable urge that had hindered him from simply standing up and leaving his son’s side as he had planned to do it. He had known that there would come a time when he would need to let the boy go.

Not completely, of course, as God had known that there was no way on earth that he would ever allow his beloved son to slip through his fingers, but Joseph would grow up and find his own way - within the restrictions of his titles, of course, but he would find his destiny. Franz Stephan had hoped that he would not live long enough to see Joseph leave for war. If there had been anything positive about the circumstance that Josep had been their only living child to this day, it had been the fact that the young crown prince had been protected. No one would have dared to send him off to an encampment, neither Maria Theresia nor Franz Stephan ever would have agreed to it in the first place. There was no way that Franz Stephan could have pictured Joseph, his gentle, clever, introverted and book-affined son in midst an ongoing battle. Not only had he failed to picture it, the prospect that it _could_ happen, as improbably as it may have seemed, had been enough to cause his heart to ache.

After one last brush through Joseph’s curls that were so much like his own, Franz Stephan had managed to force himself to turn his eyes onto any thing but his son’s sleep-relaxed onto his feet. At least he had been able to retreat to Maria Theresia’s bedroom and not the solitude of his own, latter which surely would not have helped with the constant turning of the gearwheels on his mind. Despite the lateness of the hour, Maria Theresia had been propped up on her bed and flipping through the pages of a book with the slightest bit of interest. “You are still awake.”

His wife had offered him a tired smile, closing the book and setting it down onto the nightstand that had stood next to her bedside. “It is not that I could sleep.” Franz Stephan had ducked his head as he had began to unbutton, he had hoped that she, notwithstanding the size of her stomach, would have been able to sleep. Having since entered the last month of her pregnancy, she would need every ounce of strength that she could collect. “Did you have a lot of work today?”

With his waistcoat hung over the back of a nearby chair, Franz Stephan had begun to take of his shirt and britches, all while Maria Theresia had watched him. She had held her hands folded on the top of her pregnant stomach as she had done so. “Yes,” he had answered, a bit more briefly than he had wanted to. “I might have missed that Madame d’Aboville has fallen ill.” Franz Stephan had muttered the last part of his answer much like a child would have admitted to stealing out of his mother’s stash of sweets.

“ _What?_ ”

“I was not informed!”

“When did he go to bed?” From the groan that had underlined Maria Theresia’s words, he had guessed that she had already known the answer.

“About... fifteen minutes ago I would say.”

“François!”

“It is hardly my fault, Theresia. The boy is old enough to go to bed on his own!” They had looked at each other at the same time, both snorting a laugh. “We really do let him get away with too much.”

“No, I would not say that,” Maria Theresia had laughed, cocking an elegant eyebrow when Franz Stephan had, dressed in his nightdress, made his way over to the bed. “Our son is far from a disobedient child, Francois.”

“Is that so?”

“Perhaps you would like to spend a bit of time with Kauniz’s son, then.”

He had swallowed a groan; it had been widely known that count’s child had been an absolute horror compared to Joseph, and had smirked as he had slipped underneath the covers beside his wife. “I would rather not.”

“It is what I thought.”

That his eyes had been wide and full of love as he had looked up at Maria Theresia had been something that Franz Stephan had no longer noticed, and it had only been due to the way that his wife had smiled down at him that he had been assured of his love-struck gaze. “You look beautiful.” He had meant it - despite the tired creases around her eyes, Maria Theresia had still been the uttermost beautiful to him. Even more so when he would reminiscent that she had been carrying his child. “Et ne pas essayer de discuter avec moi à ce sujet _._ ”

“I will not,” she had laughed and had, with a sigh, pulled two of the pillows out from underneath her so that she had been resting in a more comfortable position. Franz Stephan had kissed her cheek, closed one arm around her and shuffled until he had laid flush against her back, pressing another light kiss onto her cheek.

~

Even though the thirteenth of May was a Wednesday, the imperial couple did not hesitate to indulge in a late and extended breakfast. Maria Theresia had still been securely in his arms when Franz Stephan had woken, he had spend a good quarter of an hour caressing her face and brushing strands of hair away from her forehead before his wife had stirred awake with a quite endearing groan. He had kissed one of her cheeks, then the other and finally her forehead prior to slipping out of bed and using the servant’s passage to hurry to his room in order to retrieve the gift that he had acquired for the occasion of her thirty-third birthday. When he had closed the camouflaged door of the servant’s passage behind him and had found himself in his wife’s bedroom again, the gift hidden behind his back, Maria Theresia had been sitting in the chair in front of her vanity table. One chambermaid had worked on her hair while the other had knelt on the floor in order to help Maria Theresia into her stockings.

That one of his wife’s hands hand been pressed against the underside of her stomach, Franz Stephan had missed.

He had kept himself in the background until the chambermaids had completed their work and had left to retrieve the first of Maria Theresia’s for the day before he had pushed himself off from where he had been leaning against the door and had moved over to her. She had let out a groan as he had approched her, her eyes closed and that the expression which had flashed over her face had been one of aching discomfort, he would only find out much later. “I wish you a very happy birthday, my love.”

“François!”

Chuckling at the squeak of surprise that had escaped her - she surely could not have _not_ heard the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor, he had revealed what he had held hidden from her. He had simply needed to grin when he had held the square mahogany box out for Maria Theresia to take it. “I hope that it is to your liking.” Maria Theresia’s eyes had been wide and glistering when she had turned her head to look up at him. Before either of them could have said anything, Franz Stephan had leaned down and had kissed her. “Open it.” She had not needed to be told twice, and he had put a hand onto her shoulder as he had watched her open the lock of the unostentatious box to lift its lid. “Do you like it?”

“Oh François...” Maria Theresia’s voice had been barely above whisper when she had reached inside the box to take out its content.

“Are they to your liking?”

He had not liked to praise himself, but he invested a lot of thoughts, time and expenses into acquiring the set of high-carat emerald earrings and the fitting necklace after Maria Theresia had mentioned, rather casually, that she had been looking out for them for a few months. “You did not have to...”

Moving around the chair to crouch down in front of her, Franz Stephan had laid his hands on top of hers. “I remembered that you wanted to have them, Theresia. I know that you will look beautiful if you wear them to the ball tonight.”

It would not have been an overstatement if he would have said that his heart had nearly stopped during the handful of seconds that it had taken for Maria Theresia to react to what he had revealed to her. “The ball? W-What ball?” Given the way that her eyes had widened and her cheeks had gained a pink hue, Franz Stephan had suspected that she had already suspected the answer.

“It is your birthday, my love. Of course there will be a ball.”

“François...” Tears had welled in her eyes, tears which he had known had been fuelled by appreciation.

Letting go of her hands he had cupped her face and had pulled her into a kiss, careful of the swell of her stomach between them. “I am happy as long as you are, Theresia.” He had used his thumbs to wipe away a stray tear that had escaped from a corner of her eyes, the sniffle she let out tugging at the strings of his heart.

“I will not be able to dance with you for long...”

“What does it matter? One dance with you will be enough.”

“I love you.”

Franz Stephan had answered to her half laughed, half sobbed statement by kissing her again before pulling back and wiping at her face. “I love you will all my heart, Theresia.” Maria Theresia had clicked her tongue above him when he had turned his attention to her stomach. “Et je t'aime aussi, mon enfant.”

The chambermaids had returned, carrying the dress and what else had been needed, and Franz Stephan had kissed his wife’s stomach and her lips before he had left her chambers for his own in order to get readied for the day himself. Wilhelm had already been awaiting him in his bedroom. He and the valet had shared a good few laughs while he had gotten dressed, powdered and his wig fixed on top of his head. Half an hour later, and Franz Stephan was moving Maria Theresia’s wheelchair to her seat at the lavishly set-up breakfast table. Gerard van Swieten had, in the meanwhile, granted her permission to stay on her feet for longer this evening, as Maria Theresia dreaded to have to attend the ball confined to the wheelchair. “Where is Joseph?”

“He is being dressed.”

She hummed in agreement and he sat down at the opposite end of the table, smiling fondly at his wife as a manservant stepped forward to fill his cup with coffee.

“Happy birthday, Mama!”

Maria Theresia’s face lit up with a smile when Joseph crossed the room with a boyish bounce in his gait, holding his hands hidden behind his back in the same manner that Franz Stephan had done it earlier. “Thank you, mon cœr,” she said, her voice coated with the sweetness that she used to adress the boy with most of the time, and took his face into her hands to kiss one of his chubby cheeks.

“I have a gift for you.”

“Oh, you do? That is really sweet, my love.”

The boy nodded, slowly bringing his hands in front of him and warmth filled out Franz Stephan’s chest as he watched how Maria Theresia accepted the envelope and thanked Joseph with another kiss to his cheek. “I thought that I would read it later so it will not get ruined during breakfast. Would that be alright for you, mon petit?” Joseph agreed with a nod and climbed onto the chair that stood nearest to Maria Theresia’s wheelchair.

Franz Stephan could not remember when they had last attended breakfast at such a late hour - and as a family as that, too. There was no need for any of them to hurry: none of the things that he had been working on were so urgent that he could not set them aside for a day, Joseph’s teacher had been assigned a free day and Maria Theresia would not insist to be in the company of her files. While he knew that it easily made her uncomfortable, Franz Stephan found himself unable to take his eyes away from her. She was breathtakingly beautiful. The pregnancy had returned a bit more roundness and color to her face, which had been painfully emaciated by the various fertility potions the herbalist had provided her with, and she seemed... _happy_. Even if she was confined to her bed for the majority of her days and despite the fact that uncertainty still overshadowed the pregnancy, Maria Theresia seemed less on edge than she had been for the majority of the last eight years. Franz Stephan’s inner moment of nonchalance, however, somewhat sobered when she winced rather harshly.

Maria Theresia had been about to reach for one of the cut-up fruits on the étagères in front of her when she had flinched, froze and set back into the wheelchair with an expressionless face and a hand pressed against her stomach. She did not let out a single sound and Joseph, who was happily eating away at a baked treat, did not take notice of his mother’s situation. Franz Stephan, on the other hand, had opened his mouth to speak but was forced to find out that his voice had long died. He wanted to ask her whether it was bad enough for her to require the attention of the court physician, whether she knew what it was or if there was anything that he could do - but all that he did was failing to hinder his mind from drawing out one terrible scenario after the other. “Theresia.” It seemed as if an eternity had passed before he managed to breathe her name out and as he did so, Maria Theresia blinked hard and looked away from where her eyes had been glued to a spot on the table.

“I am alright,” she had said, her hand still on her stomach. “I was merely... kicked a bit harder.”

He believed her, of course, and nodded while letting out a breath that he had not even been aware of having held in.

“Mama?”

Maria Theresia smiled, albeit a bit forced, when she was addressed by Joseph. “Yes?”

The boy pointed at her middle, “When will it come?”

She looked over at Franz Stephan before she answered, a small, almost hesitant smile growing on both of their faces, and ran a hand over the curve of her stomach. “Another month or so, I believe. It will not be much longer, my love.”

Joseph huffed in a quite adorable manner, turning up his nose in unmasked dislike about the answer that he had gotten. “Why can’t it come out now?”

Maria Theresia laughed heartily while Franz Stephan snorted and shook his head. “It is not the time yet, mon petit. The child will come once the time will be right.”

“How does it know when the time is right, Mama?”

 _The boy was unbelievable!_ Franz Stephan’s smile turned into a grin. His son reminded him so much of himself. “It will know,” Maria Theresia merely answered, her laugh filling out the room, “you knew so as well. You came at just the right time, mon petit.”

“I did?”

“Of course, my love.”

The boy huffed once more but giggled when his mother winked at him. “I do not remember, Mama.”

“It is not something that one does remember,” Franz Stephan snorted, thus joining the conversation that he had been merely watching.

“Oh.” 

The remainder of the meal went by as peaceful as the majority of it had done it. There was no mistaking in how much Joseph enjoyed the time that he got to spend with both of his parents, and Franz Stephan soon forgot about the few seconds of fright when he was able to see his child so carefree and happy. He did not even comment when Joseph sneaked a _third_ chocolate-filled treat onto his plate, instead only winked when his son looked at him in childish embarrassment of being caught in the act. They went parted ways after breakfast - Maria Theresia was due to return to bed, and Franz Stephan took Joseph to the garden where the boy was able to run and make as much noises as he liked without disturbing his mother. He stood surrounded by a few members of his entourage as he watched his son playing with a group of a dozen children. That it had once been his dream to have an even larger amount of children with Maria Theresia, Franz Stephan tried not to think about.

He did not want it to ruin his mood like it had done it so many times before. They had Joseph, and another child was within their reach. That he and Maria Theresia would have been happier if they would not have lost Maria Elisabeth, Maria Anna and Franz Karl was out of question, but Franz Stephan knew very well that it would not do to linger on it. Three of his children had died, had found their place in the imperial crypt so long ago that it could have happened in a different lifetime. It would not have been his duty to stand by and watch his son play, it was what maids were for, after all, but Franz Stephan had sworn himself that he would spend the day with son.

“Your son is a very lively child, Your Majesty,” one of the noblemen said and he nodded, turning around to face the man.

“He is. I am most proud of him, and so is my wife.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The man bowed and with that, Franz Stephan turned away again. Joseph and the other children had since begun a game of catch, chasing each other over the lawn. Their laughter filled the air and while Franz Stephan felt a stab in his heart, he could not do but to smile when he caught sight of his son’s face, enlightened by a smile and rosy cheeks. For how long he and the members of his entourage had stood by and had watched the horde of children play, Franz Stephan had not bothered to keep a track on.

The Imperial family had attended lunch together, though said meal had, in comparison to breakfast, been a rather short affair. Maria Theresia had stated that she had suffered from another period of a heartburn bad enough to make her feel nauseous from the smell of food alone, so she had merely sat by while Franz Stephan and Joseph had enjoyed their soup. This time, Franz Stephan had not missed how one of her hands had never left her stomach. He had, however, only addressed it once Joseph had been on the way to his playroom, for he had not wanted the boy to witness it. “Theresia...” He had crouched down in front of her wheelchair, “what is wrong?”

She had shaken her head, “It is nothing too bad, the pressure is just very uncomfortable.”

“Pressure?”

“It is normal, I do remember it from the other pregnancies.”

Cupping his hands against her stomach, Franz Stephan had nodded. His worry had not been passed, but he had not wanted to bore any deeper - scared that he might transfer his worry onto her. Franz Stephan had sighed and had raised to kiss her. “I worry about you, my love.”

“I know that, François.” She had pulled back to smile at him, leaning her cheek into the palm that he had held her face with. “I do believe that it is rather sweet.”

Franz Stephan had snorted a laugh and had kissed her once more before he had moved to the back of the wheelchair to bring her back to her rooms. In hindsight, he would wish that he would have paid more attention. The remainder of the afternoon had drippled by them without any other incident. Franz Stephan had stayed in an armchair by Maria Theresia’s bedside, reading one of the newest acquirations to his library while Joseph had snuggled up to his mother, who herself had been reading while running her free hand through the boy’s curls, until it had been time for him to freshen himself up for the approaching festivities. Madame d’Aboville, who had since regained her health, had come and had collected Joseph to dress him and Franz Stephan had kissed Maria Theresia’s forehead before he had left. How could he have been so blind? It had taken more than an hour until he had dressed in his sumptuous brocade attire, powdered and satisfied with the way that he had looked. He had eyed himself in the mirror when a knock at the door had pulled him out of his thoughs. “You may enter.”

It had been his valet, who had left him not more than two minutes ago, and through the mirror Franz Stephan had seen that Wilhelm’s face had been strangely expressionless. “What is it?”

The valet had pressed his lips together and had moved his hands to hold them behind his back, looking at a spot somewhere near Franz Stephan. A blind man could have seen that he had been stalling. “Her Majesty, Sire.”

He wished that he would have needed to ask in order to find out what his first valet had meant, but with all that had happened in his life, Franz Stephan knew. He knew, in the pit of his stomach, that something horrible had happened, and said certainty was enough to drain him. Drain him of his hopes, his excitement, his dreams. Franz Stephan turned away from the mirror with a gasp, staggering rather than walking over to a nearby chair. The way he clung to its back showed that he otherwise would not have been able to keep himself in an upright position. _What have we done to deserve this_ , he screamed at God in the silence of the mind, the same accusation that he had spoken out so many times. Too many times. Franz Stephan perceived footsteps nearing in on him through the sound of blood rushing through his ears, and his grip on the back of the chair had turned white-knuckled by the time that he had felt Wilhelm’s hand on his shoulder. His lungs burned from their need for air, he knew that he had to breath but he simply could not do so. _What have we done to deserve so much suffering_. He squeezed his eyes shut before he managed to open them, and given the way that his valet had flinched, he knew that his inner turmoil must have been visible on his face.

Neither of them had spoken for a good minute before Franz Stephan sighed and hung his head in defeat, shaking it with the bit of strength that he had left. All the hopes that he had harboured in his chest, all the _possibilities_ and all the images that he had drawn out in his foolish credulity were passing past his inner eye as if to show him, _mock_ him over what had been within his reach and had been torn away in the cruel manner that he was familiar with. He needed to draw in another rasped breath before he was able to use his voice, not caring about how broken, how vulnerable he sounded. “My wife,” he breathed, “where is my wife.”

Wilhelm, who appared more than a bit overwhelmed, swallowed visible and removed his hand from Franz Stephan’s shoulder. “Her Majesty is being attended to in her bedroom, Sire.”

“Van Swieten?”

“Yes, Sire. The physician and the midwives arrived as soon as they could.”

“Why was I not notified?”

“I...”, the valet cleared his throat, “do not know, Sire.”

 _Oh Theresia. His sweet, sweet Theresia._ It had been far from the first time that she had refused to notify him - out of worry about him. “I need to see her.”

Wilhelm accompanied him without Franz Stephan having to request it. The royal wing of the palace seemed strangely quiet. There were no servants husting and bustling about, no guards changing their posts. Franz Stephan thought it to be lifeless and while the silence was heavy, he wished it back as soon as approached Maria Theresia’s apartment. The sound of her screams send an array of stabs into his chest, robbing him of his breath and causing him to noticably sway on his feet. He had never wanted his beloved wife to go through so much suffering... It appeared that all the people that he had missed out on the corridor had come together in Maria Theresia’s antechamber. Midwives were passing into and out of the adjoined bedroom, the cries reaching a higher volume every time that the door was opened.

Franz Stephan felt physically sick and suddenly incredibly selfish. If it would not have been for him, she would not have been suffering so much. He could not do it. Wilhelm let out a sound that stood somewhere between a gasp of shock and surprise when he simply let himself fall onto a canapé to burry his face in his hands. He was not ready. He was not ready to see Maria Theresia in pain, to hear her crying and screaming and neither was he ready to be faced with the sight of another one of his children deceased. It was too soon for the child to come. “Is the priest near?”

“Sire?”

“Was the priest called.”

“I... do not know, Sire.”

“Make sure that he will.”

“I will, Sire.”

Remembering how scared Maria Theresia had been by the prospect of Franz Karl not having been baptized before his death, Franz Stephan had wanted to ease her fear. _Ease her fear, ha_. Maria Theresia was giving birth to a deceased child, was going through pain only to be handed another deceased child. What good could he do, sitting on the canapé in her antechamber. He felt like an utter failure. Franz Stephan did not know for how long he had been left alone with his thoughts and grief, for how long he had sat slumped on the canapé with his face firmly hidden away from sight, until he was addressed to again.

“Your Majesty?” Gerard van Swieten’s voice was the same as always, not giving away what was taking place in the next room and Franz Stephan wondered how it was even possible. While his eyes were burning, the first tear yet had to leave them, but he still wiped at his face before he looked up at the court physician. This was not how it was supposed to be. They were not supposed to endure so much simply because they had wished for children, for a family that would fill out their lives. Gerard van Swieten spoke after he had nodded, shocked into speechlessness. “Her Majesty’s water has broken when she got dressed by her maids,” the dutchman said, fumbling with what Franz Stephan believed to be a cloth in one hand. “I attended to her as soon as I was able to, Your Majesty.”

“It is too soon.” “Your Majesty?”

“For the child,” he had retorted, his voice strangely flat. “It is too soon for the child to be born.”

The physician straightened a bit more, “Her Majesty is in labour, Your Majesty. Heartbeats from the child are still audible.” Franz Stephan visibly cringed, but before he could have said anything else, the physician went on. “While it is sooner than the date that I calculated, Your Majesty, it does not necessarily mean that it is too soon for the child.”

Shaking his head, Franz Stephan looked back down at his hands. The physician was not supposed to give him hope where he knew none was to be found. “She said that it... would still be another month.”

“’Tis what my calculations have resulted in, Your Majesty. But I have attended births where the child was born as much as five weeks earlier and is now a healthy one, Your Majesty. There are different circumstances that cause an early birth, Your Majesty.” He did not want to hear it, did not want any more hope burning in his heart only for it to be brutally extinguished again. “Her Majesty asked whether Your Majesty is present or not.”

It was everything that he needed to hear - Franz Stephan was back on his feet within an instant. He would not allow himself to linger in his grief when Maria Theresia needed him. Hurring through the room, he felt the eyes on him until he closed the door of his wife’s bedroom beside him. Maria Theresia way spread out on her bed, a midwife kneeling between her bent and spread legs and a chambermaid holding a cloth to her forehead. She was not wearing more than her nightdress which stuck nearly see-through to her chest. Her breathing came in short, pained huffs, interrupted by the pained groans and whimpers and she kept her eyes closed as the cloth was moved over her reddened face to wipe away the sweat that stood on her cheeks. Maria Theresia did not open her eyes until Franz Stephan reached her bedside. He did not notice how Gerard van Swieten entered the room and took the place that the midwife had occupied while the physician had been gone. “My love...”

Her eyes were glassy when they looked up at him, and Franz Stephan’s vision grew increasingly blurry as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. He wished that he could say something, but he did not know what there could possibly be for him to say. That he was sorry? That he was there for her? None of those things would be of use to her, so he merely kissed her forehead, which was frightingly hot to the touch, once more before he straightened. He felt incredibly useless and out of place. There was nothing that he, as her loving husband, was able to do. Looking around a bit helpless, it ended up being one of the midwives that lead him to one of the free chairs.

“Is there anything that I can do for you, Your Majesty?”

“Help my wife,” was all he said as he folded his hands and pressed them against his lips, his knees bouncing while he watched the scene in front of him. _This was not how it was supposed to be_. Maria Theresia looked so weak that Franz Stephan shuddered from an entirely different fear coming up inside of him - what if he would lose _her?_ What if he would not only lose another one of his children, but his wife as well?

“How wide is Her Majesty’s cervix,” he overheard a midwive asking, and Maria Theresia groaned when Swieten used his fingers to feel for the answers.

“Seven centimeters.”

The physician’s answer caused Franz Stephan’s brows to pull together; he may not have been a medic but he knew enough of the process to follow it. “I was told that her water broke an hour ago.”

“It did, Your Majesty, but it appears that Her Majesty’s cervix has widened itself prior. Her Majesty’s labour is proceeding rather fast, Your Majesty.”

Franz Stephan did not know what to make of it. He just wanted it all to be over, wanted Maria Theresia to be without pain and for their family to be without so much grief. _Joseph_. Nearly jumping up from the chair, he ran through the room and tore the door open.”Wilhelm.”

“Sire?”

“Find my son and keep him away from here.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Fr-François?” He whipped around to see Maria Theresia’s tear-filled eyes on him, a pleading look on her face.

“I am here,” Franz Stephan hurried to answer as he let go of the door and returned to her side, grasping for one of her hands.

Her body tensed and she froze, for no more than a second, before her head fell back onto the pillow with a pained cry. He knew that it was another contraction, considering how her legs were trembling and how strong the hold was that she had on his hand. “Push, Your Majesty.” One of the midwives had turned up at the opposite side of Maria Theresia’s bed and had since slipped a hand underneath her head to help her lift it to her chest. “You must push, Your Majesty.”

“I cannot,” Maria Theresia answered with a low, heartbreaking cry. “I cannot...”

“Yes you can, Your Majesty. Monsieur van Swieten is already able to feel the child’s head.” Franz Stephan felt a tear claiming its way down his face, but found himself unable to react to it during the minute that the contraction lasted. “Very good, Your Majesty.”

The midwife disappeared from the bed and when the chambermaid motioned to return to her post, Franz Stephan stopped her by holding out his free hand. “Pass me the cloth.”

The chambermaid obeyed with quite a stunned, “Your Majesty”, and Maria Theresia groaned when Franz Stephan laid the newly-soaked cloth onto her forehead.

“You are doing so well,” he whispered, “so well, my love.”

“François...” Her sobbing of his name was enough for his throat to feel restricted, and he swallowed around the lump that threatened to suffocate him as he brushed a few strands of hair away from her forehead. “François.”

“I am here, my love, I am here. It will be alright.” While his hopes of _it being alright_ had long been diminished, he forced those words over his lips. He did not want to imagine what might happen if she would give up midst-labour... “It will be alright.” She did not let go of his hand, and while she was still holding onto it hard enough for the grip to be on the verge of painful, Franz Stephan did not even think about forcing her to loose its hold. The breaks between the contractions soon became shorter - showing him that the physician had not been understated the pace that it did all proceed, and it was him who then steadied Maria Theresia’s head as she suffered through one contraction after another. He only noticed the amount of time that had passed when he threw a look at the window to be met with the darkness of the sky while his wife had been aided with a glass of water.

“I’m so tired,” she muttered, closing her eyes and letting her head tip over to one side during one of the short breaks.

“Theresia!” His voice sounded more frightened than he had wanted it to be, and a choked sob escaped him when her eyes flew open and turned towards him in confusion. “Do not close your eyes, do you hear me? I need you to stay with me. _Joseph_ needs you to stay.”

“Where is he?”

“Wilhelm is taking care of him.”

She licked over her chapped lips, her eyes moving away from his face. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry...”

“Hush, there is nothing that you ought to apologise for.” Twin tears rolled over her face when she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, her breath hitching due to the sob that was building up in her chest and before she could have fallen back to apologizing for something that was anything but in her fault, Franz Stephan took her by the chin and pressed a kiss onto her lips. It was far from passionate, of course, rather a way for him to show her that he was there and that he meant what he had said. “It will be alright, Theresia. It will be alright.”

In hindsight, Franz Stephan would have troubles trying to recall how it could have happened so fast. _A precipitate labour_ , the court physician would talk about afterwards, but Franz Stephan had just helped his wife through yet another contraction when Gerard van Swieten exclaimed that their child’s head would come with the following contraction. Maria Theresia let out a sob at the physician’s words and wrapped both of her arms around Franz Stephan’s arm, who was halfway bend over her in order to support her as good as he only could. He brushed his lips against her forehead before he pressed a kiss onto his, his own eyes fluttering shut. _That would be it. Another tragic end to what had been supposed to be their blessing._ “I am here,” he whispered against her hot skin, “I am here, Theresia. It will be alright.”

The following contraction came not another minute later. “Push, Your Majesty, push!” Maria Theresia nearly doubled over from the strain that it took on her body and she sank back down onto the mattress at the very same second that a shrill cry filled the room.

He had not heard the cry of a newborn for thirteen years. Franz Stephan could not breathe, could not think, could not even _think_. His knees failed to keep him upright any longer, and he slowly sank down onto the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed to where the physician and the midwife were working between Maria Theresia’s legs. He only snapped out of it when he perceived a sob from Maria Theresia. “My love...”

“Congratulations, Your Majesty. Is is a boy.”

Franz Stephan’s and Maria Theresia’s gazes found each other and it was then his turn to let out a sob that he never could have kept down, his chin trembling as he swept down to kiss her once. “We have another son, my love.” He truly felt as if he were to faint when, suddenly, a wrapped-up bundle was passed over into his arms. _His son_. Still not able to fathom what had happened, he merely stared down at the newborn’s crumpled face. _His son_ was blinking hard, trying to adapt to the world that he had just entered and by God, Franz Stephan did not care that he was openly crying when he gave the child over to Maria Theresia, whose face was being streaked by tears.

“Oh, he is beautiful,” she whispered, ghosting the tip of her forefinger over their son’s redened cheek.

“Of course he is, he is our son.”

Clicking her tongue, Maria Theresia lowered her head to kiss the top of the child’s head. “I guess that my feeling betrayed me.”

There was an ounce of disappointment in her voice, but Franz Stephan knew all to well that it would not affect the love she had for the child. Out of the corner of his eye he watched how Gerard van Swieten and the midwives were beginning to collect their equipment in order to wash them in the basin. “You did so well,” he whispered after he had bend down to press a kiss into her hair, “I am so proud of you.” The newborn mewled, squirming a bit and squeezing its eyes together but when Maria Theresia moved to sit up a bit higher onto the stack of pillows that had since been put underneath her, she froze. “Theresia?”

“Take him,” was all she said. With his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach Franz Stephan obeyed, securely positioning his son in the crook of his arm.

It turned out that it was not only his wife who had noticed that something was not as it should have been. Gerard van Swieten’s face was as unreadable as ever as he moved back between Maria Theresia’s legs, put one hand onto her stomach to apply gentle pressure while the other disappeared out of sight. It would be the only time that Franz Stephan would see the physician’s mask slip, and the fact that he witnessed it sobered him up. Maria Theresia’s face paled considerably as she and van Swieten looked at each other - as if they were able to communicate without having to use their words.

“What is it,” Franz Stephan breathed, his eyes switching between his wife and the court physician.

“There is... another child coming.”

With everything that he had expected to be told, that was not close to any of it. He failed to answer as much as he failed to close his mouth. Everyone in the room seemed to be stunned. Rightfully so; twin pregnancies were rare. Very, very rare. The entire situation was too much for Franz Stephan. Uttermost mindful of the small bundle in his arms he sank back down onto the edge of the bed, his mind racing and his heart beating strong enough for it to hurt. How did they went from having _no_ child to being blessed with _two_... No, it was not something that he was able to fathom in that moment. There was a buzzing hovering in the room, filling it out and infecting everyone in it as Maria Theresia began to experience another wave of contractions. She was tired, near to the point of exhaustion - it had been nine years since she had last given birth, but she managed. Even though Franz Stephan was unable to help her like he had helped her before, as he refused to put his son down into the bassinet, she worked with the contractions as much as she only could.

When another sharp cry broke out, Franz Stephan was certain that he was close to the point of breaking down. He simply could not believe it and as it seemed, neither could his wife. Tears were freely making their way down his face as she kept her hands pressed over her mouth and her eyes squeezed together. “Theresia... Mon amour, tu peux le croire?”

Gerard van Swieten’s smile was a honest one as he looked up from where he had been busied between Maria Theresia’s legs. “And congratulations again, Your Majesty. It is a girl.”

 _They have been blessed with another daughter._ Someone cried out - he would only later on realise that it was him. His chest felt as if it threatened to spill over with the sheer amount of love that had risen into it, love for his children and his wife and the fact that his hope had not been in vain. Maria Theresia was trembling when she was handed the second newborn, and Franz Stephan did feel a new surge of tears in his eyes when she carefully held their daughter as close to her chest as it was only possible. The tears that she was shedding then were those of happiness and grief. He did not know for how long he had watched her, but he and Maria Theresia were suddenly left alone with their children. The voices of the physician and the midwives could be made out from the antechamber, but it was the most privacy that they could have in that moment.

It was Maria Theresia who spoke first. “I cannot believe it,” she whispered, her eyes constantly moving from their newborn daughter in her over to their newborn son in Franz Stephan’s arms. “I never would have thought...”

 _T_ _hree children in heaven, three in their arms_. He did not know where the thought had came from, but it was so very fitting that he vowed to keep it in his mind. _Three children in heaven, three in their arms._ Mindful of his wife and the newborn children, he moved to lean against the headboard in order to be as close to Maria Theresia as possible. Neither of them spoke for a while, but words were not necessary in the moment of long-awaited peace that they shared. “Have you thought about a name yet?”

“I cannot remember,” Maria Theresia admitted, wiping at her face. “Oh, I cannot even think right now.”

“That is quite alright, my love.” He had leaned closer to kiss her cheek, smiling when she tilted her head into the touch.

“I want you to chose them.”

“What?”

“I will intervene if they are horrible, of course.”

“Shall we...” Exchanging a look, they carefully switched the children that each was holding. “Bonjour toi, mon petit. She looks just like you, Theresia.”

“She does?”

“An angel, like her mother.” While it was the truth, he knew how much him saying it meant to her. “I might have an idea for a name.”

“Do go on, François.”

“Maria Françoise Elisabeth.” He was able to see the emotions flash behind Maria Theresia’s eyes, and, when she turned her head, captured her lips in a lingering kiss.

“It is a wonderful name,” she whispered with a trembling voice, reaching out to cup her hand against their daughter’s head while her gaze did not leave Franz Stephan’s face. She kept it there for a few long moments before she looked down at the child that she was holding in her arms. “I know what we shall name him.”

“You do?” From where Franz Stephan was sitting, he saw how her eyes filled anew.

“Franz Karl.”

“Are you certain?” His voice was no more steady than Maria Theresia’s was and his heart threatened to break due to the look on her face. He did not object.

“It feels right, does it not?”

“Indeed it does.” Franz Stephan shuffled to lean his cheek against the side of her head. “I love you so much, Theresia. I love you all so much.”

A knock at the door disturbed them, though neither of them harboured any anger when Gerard van Swieten and one of the midwives entered the room. “Have you tried nursing the children, Your Majesty?” Maria Theresia answered with a mere shake of her head, and the midwife helped her to sit up a bit higher onto the pillows and unbutton the hem of her nightdress.

“Must she nurse both of the children at the same time?”

“No physician could tell a mother how to be with her children, Your Majesty. Her Majesty will do what is right.”

Franz Stephan nodded and allowed, rather reluctantly so, the court physician to take his daughter from his arms and pass her over to the midwife, who then helped to position it in Maria Theresia’s arms. Oh, what a sight it was. His beloved Theresia, holding a newborn in the crook of each arm while she nursed both of them. If he would not have already been over the edge of tears, he would have fallen over it in that very moment. She alternatingly kissed their little foreheads and whispered words that he could not understand, but knew were of nothing but unmasked love. Gerard van Swieten would explain to them later on that it was nothing out of the ordinary for twins to be born earlier than other children, thus errading the worry that Franz Stephan had harboured due to the smaller size of the children. The sound of the children suckling reached him - he never would have believed that he could possibly miss it so much. _Nine years, and now they were blessed with two at once._ The midwife washed Maria Theresia’s face with a cloth that she had brought with her, and Maria Theresia suddenly seemed so much more tired. Her eyes threatened to fall close once the children’s hunger had been satisfied and the midwife had taken one, Franz Stephan the other newborn from her arms. “We only have one bassinet,” Franz Stephan blurted out as he noticed how the midwife was looking around. They indeed only had the bassinet that they had been gifted with on the occasion of Joseph’s birth.

“It is quite alright, Your Majesty, it will be of benefit to the children if they can feel each other’s presence.” 

A chambermaid pushed the bassinet closer to Maria Theresia’s side of the bed and the newborns mewled softly as they were put down next to each other. While his eyes still burned, Franz Stephan could not banish the smile from his face. His heart had never felt so full before. He brushed the back of his forefinger over his son’s, then his daughter’s cheek. “They are so beautiful, Theresia.” With one hand holding onto the edge of the bassinet, Franz Stephan turned around the give a teary smile to his wife. Maria Theresia’s hair was disheveled, her eyes were barely open and despite it all, she seemed uttermost contented as she nodded. He sat down beside her, making sure that he would not kick the bassinet by accident, and leaned over to take her face into his hands, brushing strands of hair away from her forehead and caressing the soft skin unterneath her eyes. “Je t'aime plus que je ne pourrais jamais te le dire.”

“I love you too.” He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger on her skin. He could not have described what was happening inside of him. “Where is Joseph?”

“I ordered Wilhelm to take care of him.”

“Could you bring him here?”

“Of course, my love.” Leaving his wife and his newborn children behind in order to find his son was not as difficult as he would have thought it to be, and Franz Stephan’s heart did not calm in its racing as he searched for the valet that he had ordered to look over his son. He found them in Joseph’s bedroom, where the boy was playing with his toy soldiers. With a wide smile growing on his face, Franz Stephan moved across the room to wrap his arms around the quite stunned-looking Joseph.

“Papa,” the boy gasped, not struggling against the embrace but also not welcoming it. “Where did you go?”

The hint of accusation in his oldest son’s voice sobered Franz Stephan’s excitement quite bit. The ball had been cancelled, of course, but due to all that had happened he had forgotten to come up with an excuse for his son. “Your mother fell into labour, my love. I am sorry that I did not tell you.”

His eyes widened for the split of a second when Joseph let out a choked sound and he pulled him into his arms once more as he saw how close Joseph looked to tears himself. What a sweet boy he was... “Your mother is fine, my love, you must not worry. She asked to see you.” Joseph sniffled and, that time, nestled into his father’s embrace. “Do you want to see her?” A nod. “And your brother and sister?” He stifled a laugh at the sound of confusion that his son made, “It is not one child that your mother carried, but two,” and kissed the top of Joseph’s head. “Come, she is awaiting you.”

The boy did not need to be told twice, allowing his father to keep a hold of his hand as they walked back to Maria Theresia’s apartment. Franz Stephan knew that it would be Maria Theresia’s and his duty to ensure that Joseph would not doubt the love that they had for him despite the birth of his siblings, for the boy had carried them through so many years of darkness and despair. “Mama.”

“Joseph, mon cœr. Come here.” Maria Theresia opened her arms as soon as she caught sight of the boy and she laughed as he _ran_ to get into them, not paying any attention to the bassinet as he took his rightful place in his mother’s arms. No matter how tired she was, Franz Stephan knew that she would not cast aside the sensitive boy. “I am sorry that your father and I had to leave you alone with the valet,” she muttered into the mess of Joseph’s curls, kissing his temple as she gently freed her face from where the boy had burried it in the side of her neck. “Look, mon petit.” Franz Stephan’s smile returned to his face as he, too, moved over to the bed, sitting down beside Joseph, who had raised onto his knees to be able to peak into the bassinet. “This,” Maria Theresia pointed at one of the newborns, “is your brother. His name will be Franz Karl.” Franz Stephan and her exchanged quite an amused gaze at the way that Joseph’s eyes, wide as saucers, were staring down at the sleeping infant. He brought up a hand to run it through his son’s curls as Maria Theresia spoke next. “And this, my love, is your sister. She will be baptized as Maria Françoise Elisabeth.”

“Two?”

She laughed softly, “Indeed, my love.”

“But...”, Joseph began and trailed off, appearing somewhat forlon as his eyes went back and forth between the newborns and Franz Stephan felt a twist of worry in the pit of his stomach.

Maria Theresia seemed to have caught onto it as well, and she drew the boy into her arms once again. “What is it, mon petit?”

“You... you gave me only one brooch, Papa.”

“Oh my love, you are such a sweet boy!” Joseph giggled when Maria Theresia took his face into her hands to pepper it with kisses, “That shall not become a problem.”

Franz Stephan could not keep himself from laughing at the sound of his son’s childish laugher, and he returned his hand to the top of Joseph’s head. “I will have another one made.”

“It would be unfair if I could give only one.”

“It would be indeed,” Maria Theresia chuckled, her laughter interrupted by a yawn.

“Are you tired, Mama?”

“Very much so.”

Joseph nodded, muttered something to himself and climbed off from where he had been sitting on his mother’s outstretched legs. “Sleep.”

“Hm?”

Neither her nor Franz Stephan could have kept themselves from grinning at the pretentious stern look on the boy’s face. “You should sleep if you are tired.”

“I will, my love. Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

The quite adorable seriousness disappeared from Joseph’s face to be replaced with pleading doe eyes. “Please?”

The fact that Joseph had since changed into his nightdress and an overcoat came to their advantage, as Franz Stephan simply aided his son to take it of before the boy could lie down and snuggle against his mother. Franz Stephan himself did quick work with his clothes, not caring that the expensive brocade attire would get wrinkled from the way that he dumped them onto a chair, and he put out the majority of the candles prior to claiming his side of the bed. His heart somersaulted when he looked up to see Maria Theresia’s hand disappearing in the bassinet. _His family._

_Fin._


End file.
